


Sweet Sacrifice

by Drindalis



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Spousal Abuse, Demonic Possession, Eddie lives!, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Georgie Lives!, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Panic Attacks, Polyamorous Character, Psychological Horror, Recreational Drug Use, References to Suicide, Slow Burn, Stan Lives!, Temporary Character Death, The Turtle Revives Them All, Universe Typical Blood and Gore, conversion therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-07 22:31:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 85
Words: 169,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12850881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drindalis/pseuds/Drindalis
Summary: A slick yellow raincoat clad bundle of tears slammed into Stan's chest and he gave anoofas the wind was knocked out of him, sending him tumbling back against the wall of the sewers."St-Stan, it's cold and dark and scary down here, I-I found Eddie but he won't wake up, an' I wanna gohome,where'sBilly!?"The Turtle used the last of its power to revive the three people who matter the most to the Loser's Club, activating upon It's physical demise; Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak, and Georgie Denbrough.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is me shamelessly finishing IT again and plugging my ears going 'LALALAAAA' about Georgie, Eddie, and Stan's deaths. ;) Basically I wanted to fix everything. Expect angst and such, and hopefully you all enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an idea of a timeline, this takes place immediately after Bill, Ben, Richie, and Beverly kill Pennywise in the 1990 miniseries as adults. Expect references from the 2017 film and the book as well. ;)

It didn't feel like a victory.

As Bill stood above the corpse of the monster that had destroyed their lives, three of his closest friends at his side, all he could think was that it wasn't enough.

How could it be, with Mike in the hospital, Eddie's broken body cooling a room away, and Stan long since buried by now, his wrists slashed to ribbons? 

How could it be, when Georgie was still dead and Audra was mentally gone? Even now she was lifeless in his arms, eyes cloudy and unseeing.

He held back a scream of fury and anguish even as Ben wrapped an arm over his shoulder and steered him away, Audra remaining limp and unmoving.

Bev was whispering something to Richie and clinging to his shoulder, the normally jovial man tugging away and trying to go back to the chamber that held Eddie's body.

"N-No! We can't just-! You guys, he...he _hated_ this fucking sewer, we can't just...just leave him there like he's fucking garbage!"

Bev bit her lip and tears rolled down her cheeks. "We'll come back for him, Richie. We will. But there's no way we can climb out with him right now, we need gear, we need supplies...he...he would understand-"

Richie whirled on her in an instant, heartbreak evident on his features. "Would he? Would he _understand?_ I guess we'll never know because coming back to this fucking town fucking _killed him!"_

Bev flinched, and so did Bill, feeling even more guilty. This had been his idea, he wanted to come down here and...and what? Avenge his little brother? The one he hadn't thought about in almost thirty years? 

He had made them all promise and that same promise had killed two of them, the two he loved and wanted to protect almost as much as Georgie.

Stan, his beautiful best friend who was as elegant and well put together as a painting, who liked birdwatching and was a good Jewish Boy Scout. The one who was the voice of reason in a world filled with chaos. 

His first real friend.

Eddie. Sweet, kind, precious Eddie. He hadn't wanted to come down here in the first place, but he relented because Bill asked him to. He saw so much of Georgie in Eddie, in the way he was gentle yet feisty and thought before he spoke, all the way up to the method of his death. 

Having his arm torn off, only this time with fury on his face as he plunged his arm down IT's spidery throat while triggering his inhaler with his still broken right arm, hissing murderously, _"This is battery acid, you slime!"_

Bill and Richie had been caught up in the deadlights, unable to defend themselves. If not for Eddie's sacrifice they'd probably be dead.

It wasn't worth it to lose him, too.

Bill sobbed into Audra's chest, not just for the loss of his wife, but for the loss of his family. 

For Eddie.

For Stan.

For Georgie.

And as they stumbled through the sewers aimlessly, _(their guide was dead dead dead and it was his fault fault fault)_ promising Richie that they would come back for Eddie, would lay him to rest properly, Bill cried.

_IT was dead but the cost was just too high._

He had no way of knowing that lightyears away, on the other side of the Macroverse, something was happening. Shifting, changing. Energy rippling across the stratosphere, coiling up like a snake ready to strike. Something snapped, and mere moments after the remaining members of the Loser's Club had escaped the sewer...

Stanley Uris woke up.


	2. Georgie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan wakes up alone in Derry's sewers, confused as all hell. His worst fears take ahold of him until he runs into the most unlikely person...Bill's dead little brother, Georgie.

His first thought was, _'Am I in hell?'_ Stan's wrists burned sharply, intensely, and throbbed as if he still carried the wounds that had taken his life. However, there was no blood, and the pain soon faded. He almost wished it would continue. Surely it was only what he deserved for taking his own life in the bathtub, neglecting to rejoin the others to defeat...It.

Stan knew all about the power of seven and that they were only safe when they were all together and he took the coward's way out anyways. Even though he took the group's protection with him. He had just been so _scared._ Stan knew he wasn't strong like the others, wasn't fearless like Beverly and Bill, or brave like Mike and Ben. He couldn't just swallow his fear and go in anyways like Richie and Eddie. 

Shame sat thick and heavy in the pit of his stomach, and it wasn't just the smell of the sewer nor the many half eaten corpses down here that made him turn to the side and vomit.

He wiped his mouth unsteadily and got up on shaky feet, feeling like a newborn fawn trying to walk. He stumbled and fell, catching himself, but one hand landed on something hard. Plastic.

Stan grasped the item without thinking, brow furrowed as he drew it close enough to see in the dim gloomy lighting of the sewer.

It was a powder blue inhaler, warped as if exposed to something acidic. It was absolutely drenched in blood and bile.

Stan shuddered and dry heaved again, dropping it. It echoed with a clatter against the stone floors, and he felt like this was what it was to be in hell. His hand was now filthy, covered in whatever substances were coating the inhaler, and it wasn't just disgust that had him breathing heavily, his gasps echoing lightly around the room.

Stan frantically rolled up his sleeve on the dirtied hand, noticing for a split second that his wrist still held faint scars from what he had thought was a successful suicide attempt. 

He wiped his hand on a wall, fingers trembling at the bloody handprint that was left behind, trying somewhat desperately to clean himself and restore order.

Was this his punishment?

An eternal hell, trapped in the sewer where they had fought It all those years ago?

Stan froze in midstep as something occurred to him.

Was...was It still down here somewhere?

He hadn't been being particularly quiet, and inwardly he cursed himself for making such a foolish mistake. This was what he had been trying to avoid, running needlessly into death's arms, and he knew it wouldn't be a clean death. 

No, there was a quiet sort of dignity to choosing your own method of exiting this life, and Stan would much rather have died clean and in relative peace in his bathtub, than horribly messily and in excruciating agony as surely was the death that awaited him now.

He heard footsteps and tensed up, biting his lip. He didn't have any sort of weapon. 

Stan's eyes fell on the piles of junk thrown haphazardly in the corner and came up with a rusting metal baseball bat, the handle worn with age but still taped up well enough that he didn't think he would cut his hands. He scooped it up as he faced the direction the footsteps were coming from, hands trembling slightly.

Somewhat hysterically, Stan found himself wondering if this was the same bat that Richie had used to pummel It the first time they had come down here.

A shadow was cast on the wall, huge and menacing. Whatever it was had skin loosely flapping about around its shape, and it was definitely running towards him.

_'Maybe this is what I deserve.'_

Stan grit his teeth, about to swing the bat, before he realized distantly that the shadow was shrinking the closer it got to him. He had a second to lower the bat, looking confused, before suddenly a sopping wet ball of yellow raincoat and tears slammed into his midsection, wailing incoherently.

"St-Stan, it's cold and dark and scary down here, I-I think I saw Eddie but he won't wake up, an' I wanna go home, where's Billy!?"

Stan froze as he pulled the small boy clinging to him like he was a lifeline out to arm's length, jaw dropping as he laid eyes on Georgie Denbrough for the first time in nearly thirty years.

It was unmistakably him, snot running from one nostril and beautiful brown eyes dripping with tears, sniveling weakly and pitifully. He had both of his arms, and clutched in one pudgy fist was a crumpled paper boat.

Stan felt like someone had just dumped ice into his chest. This couldn't be real, this didn't make _logical sense,_ but then he picked up on something Georgie had said.

"Y-You said...you found Eddie? Georgie, Georgie, it's okay, don't cry, it's okay...can you show me where he is..?" He deliberately overlooked the fact that Georgie had said that he _wouldn't wake up_ and was terrified that he was going to find one of his best friend's lifeless bodies in these horrible tunnels.

He had caused this.

If he hadn't done...what he'd done, Eddie would have been protected by the power of the Seven.

If Eddie was...was _dead...!_

Stan couldn't even imagine it. Even for as much as Eddie had always been 'delicate' and 'fragile' as a child, he had been filled with so much untapped energy, had always been so completely and utterly filled with life that the idea of that same life being snuffed out by It made Stan physically ill.

He wondered for a fleeting second if this could be Pennywise in disguise, just another trick, but dismissed that. If It wanted to scare him, It would have chosen something more specific to him. 

A bathtub.

A box full of razor blades.

The feeling that he had no choice at all but to take a bath.

It couldn't turn into what he was truly afraid of...Stan was most afraid of his own fear and the horrible things it had led him to do in order to avoid feeling it.

Good luck trying to portray that.


	3. Eddie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan comes across the body of one of his closest friends and tries desperately to hold it together for Georgie's sake. Everything goes better than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I was so thrilled with the response this got that I decided to update a third chapter today! Yay! However I don't have much more written ahead yet so updates won't come this frequently all the time. ;) Thanks for taking the time to read all this!

Georgie sniffled and clung tightly to Stan's hand, his own practically dwarfed in the much older one. He interlaced their fingers and squeezed, clearly still scared. 

Stan couldn't help it, and he squeezed back. No, this simply wasn't Pennywise. This was his best friend's little brother, and he was scared, and he was a child. Stan wouldn't let his own fears stop him from protecting the boy. "It's alright, Georgie. We'll go see Eddie, make sure he's okay, and then we'll go find Billy, okay? We _will."_

Georgie looked up at him a bit nervously. "Pinky promise, Stanny?" He asked softly, offering up his small finger.

Stan gave a smile he didn't really feel, linking their pinkies together. "Pinky promise."

Georgie seemed pleased with that answer and tugged on Stan's wrist lightly, stumbling unsteadily back to the room he had just come from.

"I...I don't know what happened, Stanny...it felt like I was sleepin', an' then I woke up down here. I think I had a nightmare about a clown...my arm really hurt. It was scary. And so I went looking for...for Billy, 'cuz he said he'd always be there for me, b-but..." His eyes filled with tears. "I...I found Eddie, and I don't know how I knew it was him, h-he's all...all _old,_ an' so are you...! I-Is Billy...is Billy old now, too?"

Stan bit his lip, unsure of how to explain this to a six year old. "I...I think so, Georgie. You were...asleep... for a long time, buddy."

Georgie bit his lip, his tiny brow furrowing in thought. "I...I don't think I was sleeping, Stanny. It felt more like I was...floating. Um, Eddie...is in here. I didn't get too close, I got too scared to. It's dark and smells like metal."

Stan halted in his tracks as they entered another room, a second chamber, and there was a body sprawled out on the ground. Blood pooled along the floor in sickly thick rivers, the color black and sticky. He spotted brown hair and an arm in a cast, tensing immediately as memories hit him like a tidal wave. The body was still, too still. Completely unmoving.

Stan crouched down by Georgie and turned him away. "I need you to do something for me, okay? I need you to stand here and face the wall. Do not look, okay? Not until I say so, alright? I mean it, George."

Georgie sniffled once and nodded. "I...okay." He obediently turned around, clinging to his boat like a lifeline. 

Stan swallowed the lump in his throat and inched his way forward, careful not to place his well polished shoes in a puddle of blood.

It was definitely Eddie Kaspbrak. His head was slumped to the side bonelessly, mouth slightly open, a trickle of blood running down the side of his slackjawed face. His right arm was in a clean white cast, and his left was just...gone. Torn off right at the shoulder. Stan could see the pale white of bone peeking through shredded flesh and muscle, and he couldn't stop himself from gagging, turning away.

He heard Georgie cry out, alarmed. "Stan!?"

"Don't look, Georgie, keep facing the wall, okay? You're doing great." He called out, gasping heavily and gulping in breaths of air. This couldn't be happening, Eddie couldn't be...

But he was.

His soft brown eyes were closed; whether they had fallen that way when he died or if someone had closed them, he didn't know. Stan was grateful, regardless. He couldn't bear to see Eddie, one of his best friends, like this, and those glazed and unseeing eyes might have been his undoing, the thing that finally broke his composure.

A few disarrayed locks of wavy brown hair had fallen into his face and Stan bit his lip in silent anguish, reaching out to brush them away.

A hand obstructed slightly by a cast clamped around his wrist, and a fist that had _definitely not been there a minute ago_ slammed into the side of his face.

"Get the fuck off me!" Eddie shrieked, brown eyes smoldering in rage as he kicked out at Stan and scrambled backwards, hands becoming coated in his own stale blood as he tried to get away. He gave a pained scream, his left arm not supporting his weight the way he had expected it to, and he clung to it with his injured arm as if to take the pain away. His face was screwed up in an expression of total agony.

Stan's head was ringing, and he groaned, rubbing his cheekbone and reaching out with the other hand as if to comfort him. "E-Eddie, wait a second-!"

Eddie got to his feet, looking around frantically for a weapon, his left arm limp at his side. "St-Stay _back,_ I'm not fucking afraid of you!" His hands were shaking even as he spoke, and when he came up with nothing to defend himself and realized he was alone, he slid backwards into a small crevice in the stone, trying in vain to find a hiding spot Stan wouldn't be able to reach.

Stan hated seeing Eddie look so terrified, and of him.

"Eddie, hey...it's alright. I'm not...I'm not Pennywise, okay? It's me. Stan."

Eddie's eyes were full of hate, and he didn't look even remotely convinced. "Stan's _dead!"_ He kicked out once, striking Stan in the chest. 

Stan cursed as he took a direct hit and cradled his ribs, shooting Eddie a glare. "Yeah, well, so were you, and look where we are now!"

Eddie tensed, his hands clenched into fists. "What the fuck are you talking abo...." His eyes seemed to glaze over for an instant, and when he came back to himself he looked so damned _tired._

"I....I...died..?" He asked softly, breathlessly, looking at Stan for confirmation. "I...I remember It...It had Bill in the deadlights. He was trying to do the...the ritual. Chüd, or whatever...but it wasn't working. So Richie went to help, a-and then...? But they were both losing. I knew I needed to hurt It's physical body while It's mind was away...I...sprayed my inhaler down It's throat and pretended it was battery acid...."

Stan nodded, coming a bit closer. He still couldn't believe Eddie was alive, he wanted to feel him, feel his warmth and know that it wasn't a dream, that if he blinked Eddie wouldn't be back on the floor, pale and armless once again. Stan couldn't bear to lose his friend like that again. He rested his hand on Eddie's knee and the smaller of the two didn't kick him away.

"I found an inhaler. Melted and covered in blood. Whatever you were trying to do, it worked."

Eddie looked so stricken. "I...It. It bit down on me. Clamped down hard. I couldn't get away. It fucking...fucking _hurt so bad."_

Stan nodded. "I bet it did, It tore your whole arm off-"

Eddie shook his head quickly, a stubborn look on his face. "No, not that. That hurt too, but it was kind of...distant. Unimportant. _Secondary._ No, it hurt because I knew that It had...had f-fucking _killed me_ and I was no use to the others anymore. It hurt because I wanted to do so much more. I wanted to end It. I wanted Pennywise to hurt the way It made you and Bill hurt. I wanted It to _die._ And I wasn't strong enough to do that. I was _never_ strong enough to do that. And that's what hurt so badly, Stan. Not my fucking arm."

In that moment Stan would have literally fought to the death anybody who _dared_ to call Eddie Kaspbrak weak.

Eddie looked so heartbroken that Stan almost wished Richie would appear by magic to hug Eddie, comfort him, do whatever he could to take that look off his face, but they had bigger issues to deal with at the moment.

"Listen, Eddie, I...I don't know how to tell you this, but we're not the only ones who died and came back."

Eddie's face went _white._ "Oh, no..." he spoke breathlessly, his hands coming up in front of his chest as if he could block the news from reaching his ears. "It...did It kill anyone else? Bev? Ben? _Richie!?_ He looked about ten seconds away from total panic.

Stan grabbed his hands and squeezed. "No, just, shut up for a second. It's-"

But Eddie had already looked over his shoulder, seen the small figure in a yellow raincoat and green galoshes obediently facing the wall. "Georgie..." he breathed, taking a stumbling step towards him. "Georgie!" Eddie cried out in disbelief, running towards him in a full sprint.

"'m not allowed to turn around! Stan said so!" Georgie announced into the wall ahead of him, his small voice echoing back and bouncing around the cavernous room. Eddie sobbed in relief, crouching down and pulling the six year old into his chest tightly.

"Georgie, oh my God, you're okay, you're alright, you're _alive-!"_

Georgie hugged him back with a small wince. "Ow, ow, you're squishin' me, Eddie!" His face looked concerned and a small finger reached up to brush away a tear. "Wh-what are you cryin' for...? What's wrong?" His brown eyes were wide with worry. 

Eddie held him out at arm's length before pulling him back into an embrace that wasn't quite so tight, trying to compose himself. "Nothing, nothing's wrong, Georgie, I'm just happy to see you!"

The small boy gave a laugh. "That's a dumb thing to cry over. You scared me."

Eddie sniffled once. "Y-Yeah, maybe it is. I'm sorry I scared you, I just...oh, Bill's going to be so fucking thrilled to see you!"

"That's a bad word, Eddie!" Georgie teased with a small smile, seeming to relax a little.

"Blame Richie, he's a bad influence on him." Stan interrupted dryly, looking around the sewer somewhat hesitantly. Pennywise could still be alive somewhere, and he would be pissed if he and the others had been resurrected just to be slaughtered mere minutes later. "Come on, Eddie. We need to get him out of the sewers. It could still be-"

Eddie paled considerably and nodded, scooping Georgie up onto his arms like he weighed nothing. "Hold on tight, kiddo. We're getting out of here."

Georgie wrapped his arms around Eddie's neck. "Okay, Eddie."


	4. The Weight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie has mysteriously lost his ability to navigate, and of all the times for it to vanish, of course it had to be when he needed to lead two very important people out of these sewers.

Eddie felt worthless. No, less than worthless. He felt like dead weight.

He was supposed to be the navigator. That was his job. That was his place in the Loser's Club. 

They all had a role.

Bev was the best shot of them all, Mike was the lighthouse keeper, Ben was the architect, Bill was the leader, Richie had the Voices, Stan had his birds and his rationality, and Eddie was _supposed_ to be the navigator. 

He was supposed to know exactly where to go, exactly how to get out. He had done it, once. Led them into the sun.

He had done that.

But now it was like every direction had been tugged from his head and wet sand had been poured in instead. He was close to tears every time they had to backtrack, directions unsure and unclear.  
Eddie knew Stan wanted to say something but he kept cutting him off. 

"Ed-"

 _"No,_ I-I know what I'm doing! I-It's this way, for sure this time." he insisted.

So they walked in silence, Georgie clinging to Stan tightly even as they came up to their fourth dead end. Eddie had passed him over after awhile, not wanting to admit that his still broken arm was beginning to give out on him.

Eddie drew in a short quivering breath, hands clenching into fists.

Stan laid a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, Eddie."

"No it _isn't!"_ Eddie choked out, hands wrapping around the bars that separated them from the correct path to exit to the sewer.

It was like being imprisoned. They couldn't survive down here, not for any extended period of time. Georgie was being a remarkably good sport about the whole thing, but soon he would start to get hungry. They all would.

Eddie had failed. He wiped angry tears away with his palm and turned around, trying to feel composed. "Let's keep trying."

Stan remained quiet and nodded, trying not to let the hope in his chest flutter and die. He didn't bother offering suggestions, seeing as his own entrance to the sewer he couldn't even remember. No, Eddie was still their best chance at getting out. 

The smaller man grimaced as he began to walk down a side tunnel, looking reluctant to touch the walls of the sewers for support but also trying to leave a trail to mark which tunnels they had already tried. His jacket was soaked in blood, his own, and the sleeve of the left arm was completely gone, so Eddie smeared his own blood along the walls in a sickening but clever way to mark their trail.

"How do you think we came back?" Eddie asked softly as they pressed on. 

Stan hummed in thought, shifting Georgie's weight around a bit. The six year old grumbled lightly but didn't speak, seeming content for now to just cling to Stan with one arm and the S. S. Georgie with the other.

"I'm not really sure. Logically it's completely impossible." Stan said, furrowing his brow in thought.

"Maybe we're zombies!" Georgie piped up excitedly, seeming thrilled about that possibility.

Eddie gave a weak laugh to placate him but didn't respond beyond that, still trying to force himself to somehow suddenly know the right way to go.

It had been as easy as breathing before. It was like the whole world was laid out before him in a detailed map and all he had to do was read it. Now it was like the map itself had been translated into Greek, wadded up into a ball, dipped in black paint, and then rolled back out for him to read. It didn't feel natural anymore. It didn't make sense.

Georgie perked up and looked around the sewers with renewed interest. "Are we there yet?"

Stan sighed. "No, not yet. It might take awhile, we're maybe a little bit lost."

Georgie looked very somber at that information. "Oh."

Eddie flinched worriedly. "You shouldn't tell him we're lost, we're fine!"

Stan bit his lip so he didn't snap. All this walking combined with the stress of their day was making them all grouchy, and it wasn't fair to take it out on Eddie. "He's a smart kid, he deserves to know what's going on."

Georgie wriggled his way out of Stan's hold to walk by himself, seeming in pretty good spirits. "Stanley thinks I'm smart? Wow! Hey, Eddie, let's pretend we're explorers! Maybe we'll find the way out!" He reached up to take Eddie's left arm, recoiling slightly as Eddie gave a soft hiss of pain, looking completely distraught. "I-I'm sorry!"

"N-no, it's not you, Georgie, I'm fine. Let's play explorers!" Eddie said with a small smile, but Stan could see the strain on his face and wondered how long he had been hiding the pain he was in. 

He came up behind him and spoke low enough that Georgie wouldn't hear. "Is it your arm..?"

Eddie winced. "I...yeah. It hurts. The broken one is...still broken I guess but it doesn't hurt. The one that...got bit off. It's all achey. I don't know why, it doesn't look that bad."

It was true, the pale skin of his upper arm was unblemished. There was an angry red scar from where his shoulder met his arm, but it looked years old, it couldn't be what was hurting him.

"If only we had your fanny pack." Stan teased lightly.

Eddie rolled his eyes. "I'd probably eat it at this point, I'm getting hungry."

Stan nodded. "Well, just take it easy as much as you can, okay? We don't know what exactly happened to bring us back and most doctors won't know how to treat a regrown arm."

Eddie shifted, looking uncomfortable. "Let's just keep moving. We can't stop now. All of us needs a hot meal, dry clothes, and a long night's sleep pretty damn soon."

Stan nodded in agreement, falling into step beside Eddie even as Georgie wandered ahead. "Stay close, Georgie!" he called out.

"I'm gonna!" was the answering call, followed by splashing sounds and giggling.

Stan gave a small smile at both Georgie's antics and the way he could tell Eddie was about thirty seconds from having a germ related meltdown. He understood, Stan was having difficulty not cringing and adjusting anything that was out of place himself. At least for now Georgie was entertained.


	5. Here Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan makes a discovery inside the tunnels, one that he wasn't expecting. Soon after, something strange happens to Eddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I just wanted to thank each and every one of you for reading my story! I was blown away by the response this got and hope that it ends up being everything you wanted this story to be! Thanks again! <3

Eddie groaned weakly as Georgie's laughter and muffled water sounds reached them. "H-He's splashing around in sewage, that's not okay-!"

Stan sighed wearily. "We can't exactly keep him out of it without carrying him the entire way. I can for a little bit but you probably shouldn't with your arms messed up."

Eddie whipped his head around to glare. They had been walking for hours at this point and Eddie hadn't eaten since the Chinese restaurant the night before, leading to him being extremely testy. "Excuse me? I'm fine, I'm not fucking fragile and I'm not going to break."

The taller of them took in a long breath from his nose. "I didn't say that, Eddie. I just...ugh, never mind. Just forget it. You're an adult, you know your limits." Stan as well was growing more and more impatient the longer they walked, but he couldn't take it out on Eddie. He needed to just stay calm...

Eddie scowled lightly and looked like he was about to comment, before a shrill scream echoed down the sewer tunnel. His eyes widened in horror, bolting forward with Stan hot on his heels.

"Georgie!"

The boy barreled into them, heaving desperately and sobbing as he clung to Eddie and Stan. "There's a monster up there!" he shuddered, looking terrified.

Stan froze, eyes wide.

It.

It was here.

"Take Georgie and go. _Now, Eddie!"_

As expected, Eddie protested, hands squeezing Georgie's shoulders tightly as if to prevent anything from snatching him away. "No way, I'm not leaving you to die!"

Stan grit his teeth, his temper flaring to life under the weight of his hunger and the fact that It could be just around the corner. "Damn it, Eddie, shut up and do as you're told!"

The younger man's eyes widened in stunned disbelief that quickly became fury. _"Fuck you,_ Stan! Knock it off with the macho shit, okay! I'm not a fucking child!"

"Stop it! Stop fighting!" Georgie wailed, snapping the two of them out of their argument. His arms crossed over his chest in a disappointed pout, and it was so reminiscent of Bill's typical 'knock it off' expression that they both fell silent. Eddie's face softened, rubbing the back of his head and glancing over at Stan from the corner of his eye.

"I, uh. Sorry."

Stan shook his head, not wanting Eddie to feel bad but still nervous about the threat of Pennywise. They needed a plan. "Now's not the time. Take Georgie and go back to the last tunnel on the left. Wait around the corner and if I come back without saying the words 'ruby crested warbler' then it's _not me_ and you have to run. You two didn't ask to die, I did, so if anyone should go look it needs to be me. Promise me you'll run! Don't try to be a hero, Eddie! If I don't come back, you have to take Georgie and go!"

Eddie looked shaken up but clung to Georgie's shoulders. "I...okay!"

Stan's eyes darted to Georgie who looked terrified. "Georgie, don't let Eddie do anything dumb, okay? I'm counting on you."

Georgie whimpered and curled in on himself, his brown eyes filled with scared tears. "P-Please don't die, okay Stan?"

Stan ruffled his hair and turned down the tunnel leading to where Georgie had seen the 'monster' and shuddered to a halt.

Laying in the center of the chasm were several piles of miscellaneous items such as old bikes, toys, clothes, and other childlike items. It all seemed to be centered around a large caravan of some sort, with Pennywise the Dancing Clown emblazoned boldly on the side. Hanging from the ceiling were hundreds of tightly wrapped white bundles, and he had no idea what could be inside.

The second thing he noticed was the body.

It was massive, at least the size of a house, and was a horrifying looking spider like creature. It's eyes were glazed over and unfocused, and it looked as though the creature's heart had literally been torn from its body.

And then Stan realized.

This...was It.

It was dead.

The sense of relief and freedom that washed over him nearly brought him to his knees, and he called back behind him with a shaky voice.

"Eddie! Georgie! Ruby crested warbler! It...It's dead, Eddie! Pennywise is really dead!" he yelled over his shoulder in bewildered disbelief. He heard Eddie yelling something, a splash, and then silence.

"Stan! Somethin's wrong with Eddie!" came a worried cry, echoing down the tunnel.

Stan's heart skipped a beat. What if this spider corpse wasn't actually It, just some sort of trap so Pennywise could double back around and hurt Eddie and Georgie? He leapt over a giant leg and sprinted back down the tunnel, ignoring the splashes of sewage and old gray water he was sloshing everywhere.

He found Eddie slumped against the wall of the tunnel, his face pure white, expression pained and tired. His eyes stared ahead and saw nothing. Georgie clung to his hand tightly, looking frantically from Stan to Eddie.

"Fix 'im, Stanny! Make him feel better!"

Stan crouched in front of Eddie, snapping his fingers in his face. "Eddie, you okay? Talk to me, say something."

Glazed brown eyes seemed to flicker into awareness as Eddie snapped out of whatever spell he had been under. His attention snapped to Stan's face, seeming flustered. "I...I'm okay. I'm good. Don't worry."

Stan helped him to his feet, pointedly gesturing to the fact that Eddie's clothes were now soaked in blood and filth. "How can I not worry? You just collapsed!"

Eddie leaned heavily against the wall for a second, Georgie close to his side as if ready to catch him should he fall again.

"He just started talkin', said a bunch of weird stuff, and then fell over!" Georgie piped up helpfully. 

Eddie frowned, the dark circles under his eyes looking more pronounced as he spoke, rubbing his temples and looking drained. "Wh...I said something? I don't remember, I was just hiding around the corner with Georgie and I got really dizzy...then I woke up on the ground."

Stan glanced over at Georgie. "Do you remember what he said?"

Georgie nodded matter of factly. "Uh huh. He said," The six year old cleared his throat and spoke in an exaggerated 'low' voice, "Seriously, you big babies, I'm not fucking mad at you! Now get your shit together and take care of Bill, damn it! He needs you right now! " He seemed especially gleeful to say the swears throughout. Eddie furrowing his brow even as he murmured 'language, Georgie.' under his breath.

"I...I can't remember saying that. It was weird, I mean, I've had dizzy spells before but never this bad."

Stan frowned, torn between wanting to respect Eddie's space and the desire to make sure he was actually okay. Finally his worry won out and he reached out to check Eddie's pulse. "Tell me what you were feeling before you fell over."

Eddie huffed but reluctantly allowed him to fuss. "I felt fine. Hungry and a little tired but not any worse than you two. And then all of a sudden I just felt so fucking exhausted, it was like I had no energy left at all."

Stan frowned, looking up from his watch. "Everything seems fine, now...and I can't really do much about it even if there is something wrong."

Eddie nodded and took a few tentative steps. "See? I'm okay. I'm not sick...No worries." He swallowed once and spoke again with slightly more vigor. "Now more importantly, show me where Pennywise's body is at. I want to see this son of a bitch for myself."


	6. The Knowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan reveals some private secrets about what led to him committing suicide. Eddie feels awful for not connecting the dots earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are just awesome! Seriously, thank you all so much for the love! It helps me plunk out these chapters so quickly! I hope the quality is as good as you were all hoping for. Thanks and have a great day!

They pressed on slowly, splashing footsteps abounding as Georgie entered the room. The six year old seeming much less bothered by the corpse now that he knew it couldn't hurt him. "Cool!" he exclaimed, reaching out as if to poke it. Eddie didn't let him touch the corpse, quickly grabbing his wrist in a gentle grip.

"It's like a dead animal on the road, Georgie, you can't touch it."

"Aww!"

Stan frowned as he spotted something on the ground beside the body. It was webbing, lots of it, and it seemed to be falling from the ceiling.

He suddenly knew exactly what each of those white bundles up on the ceiling were.

"Okay, time to go!" He interrupted, ushering both Eddie and Georgie towards the passageway on the other side of the room. Stan didn't want to have to see either of them freaking out over the half rotted corpses stashed inside. Eddie may be strong but Stan knew he would have nightmares about it for weeks, and there was no actual way he would ever allow Georgie to see anything so graphic while he could help it.

"But, Stan, it's a cool giant spider thing!"

"Nope, the spider is cancelled, we have to leave now."

They sidestepped around some strange looking smashed organic matter on the floor, that almost looked like crushed eggs. Whatever they were, there were a lot of them. 

Eddie, looking slightly green and seeming to understand why Stan was in such a hurry, also began to usher Georgie away. "I thought we were explorers? We have to keep looking for the exit."

Georgie pouted, looking disappointed, but he reluctantly stopped dragging his feet. "But 'm cold. I wanna go home now."

Eddie took off his torn jacket and slipped it over Georgie's shoulders. "Here you go, buddy. You can be Eddie for a little bit."

The six year old grinned. "Awesome! I get to be Eddie! Eddie's the coolest!"

The real Eddie flushed bright red at that comment.

Stan took the lead this time, emboldened by the fact that It was dead and couldn't hurt them anymore. He blatantly ignored every entrance that had a red smear of blood across it, but all too soon they found themselves back in the center chamber with Pennywise's corpse anyway. 

They had been walking for several hours by now, and upon stumbling into the chamber for the third time, Georgie burst into pitiful tears. 

"I wanna go _home,_ I miss Billy!" he sobbed, exhaustion and hunger finally catching up to him. Eddie hushed him gently, lifting Georgie into his arms and fighting a wince of pain. His own stomach gave a low growl and he had the decency to look embarrassed.

Stan didn't want to be the one to suggest this, but they had no choice. "We need to find a place to settle down for the night. If we keep going like this we're going to have a bad time tomorrow."

"I don't want to do this tomorrow!" Georgie choked out from his place buried in the crook of Eddie's neck.

Eddie sighed and ran his fingers through Georgie's light brown hair. "Me either, kiddo, but we have to get out, and we can't do that sitting here. Let's...let's look somewhere back in the room where I...um...."

"Died?" Stan offered helpfully.

Eddie scowled, giving Stan an unimpressed look. "Yes, perfect, let's talk about death in front of the scared six year old. No wonder you never had kids. You wouldn't exactly be winning Father Of The Year, would you?" he huffed, walking back towards the room that still smelt of blood and ignoring Stan's hurt expression. "There are lots of little crevices in here. We can hang my jacket over the entrance to one and make a nice little cave for tonight, how's that sound, Georgie?"

The small boy rubbed at his eye pitifully with one hand, the other stubbornly refusing to drop his boat. "Explorers sleep in caves sometimes." he said softly, his tone questioning.

Stan smiled weakly. "Yeah, sometimes explorers do sleep in caves if they have to."

They found a crevice that was big enough for all three of them to lay down comfortably, Eddie wedging the sleeve of his jacket in a crack above them so it flapped over the entrance. The only thing about the crevice they didn't like was the fact that the back kept going pretty deep, and there was no daylight slipping through the cracks to light it up.

"Let's just ignore it, okay? We need to grab some sleep." Eddie said softly, curling up next to Georgie with Stan on the boy's other side.

Stan nodded softly, gently tracing small circles on Georgie's cheek while he giggled lightly. "You doing okay, sport?" he asked. 

Georgie nodded and gave a small smile. "We're explorers...we sleep in caves all the time if we gotta."

Stan bit his lip. "You're right, kiddo, we do. Night, Georgie. Sleep well."

Georgie yawned and closed his eyes. "Mm...'night, Stanny."

They all laid in silence for a long time, long enough for Georgie to fall asleep. Eddie suddenly spoke softly, an apology evident in his tone. "Hey, I'm....I'm sorry I said you wouldn't be a good dad. That was really out of line. It's not true, by the way. You'd be an awesome father."

Stan shrugged, even though Eddie couldn't see it. "Don't worry about it. I, uh. I probably can't exactly go home to Patty now, what with being randomly resurrected. Um. I don't think she would take it well."

Eddie bit his lip. "Tell me about her...? She must be pretty great if you married her. I remember you saying you wouldn't settle."

Stan's expression softened. "Patty is...amazing. She's a sweet woman, she likes to sew a lot. We were trying to have kids before Mike called. And I...I ruined everything." He ducked his head down in shame. Eddie reached out and squeezed his shoulder, biting his lip and looking unsure of how to comfort him. 

"Hey, no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring it up-"

Stan covered his eyes even though it was too dark to see his tears. "I...I was a _coward!_ When Mike called, I was just...I was just too scared to even think. I needed to escape but I knew Pennywise would find me no matter where I went. It _knew_ me."

Eddie remained quiet for a second, only piping up when Stan trailed off. "What do you mean, It _knew_ you...?"

Stan choked lightly, clearing his throat. "Don't you remember...? When we were kids, when we came down here before. The painted woman. She had her whole mouth over my face, she was..." he gagged for a moment, trying desperately not to wake up Georgie. "P...Pennywise kept the deadlights in It's throat. I was looking straight into them the whole time."

Eddie gasped in realization, feeling awful. "I...I never made the connection."

Stan stayed quiet for a very long time, long enough that Eddie began to wonder if he had simply fallen asleep.

"It was inside my head. It knew me, in an instant, more intimately than I even knew myself. Pennywise looked inside and told me how I would die. It...It told me I would die alone, by my own hand, as a coward. Told me I was unworthy of even being killed by It, that I would save him the trouble. It said that because I killed myself you would all die."

Eddie couldn't muffle his gasp this time.

"I knew and it was awful because I couldn't do anything about it. I forgot after awhile, forgot the things It said, but when Mike called....it all came rushing back. I didn't know how to deal. I couldn't deal with it. It was like I couldn't even comprehend the situation. But one thing became instantly and immediately clear. There was only one way to win, to _escape._ And that was by giving Pennywise exactly what It wanted."

Eddie fell quiet, stunned. "I...I'm so fucking sorry, Stan."

"You didn't do anything."

Eddie reached over and squeezed his hand tightly. "I know, and that's why I'm sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* Next chapter we'll be visiting the Losers to see what exactly has been going on while Stan, Eddie, and Georgie wander the sewer system.


	7. Richie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out what's been happening with the other Losers (Richie in particular) while Stan, Eddie, and Georgie have been spelunking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOR THOSE WHO HAVE NOT READ THE BOOK: It is a canon scene that Richie 'channeled' the Voice of Mr. Nell, the Irish policeman, when he needed to defeat IT. In doing so, the transfer of 'energy' (or whatever you want to call it) killed Mr. Nell, as he was old and in the nursing home. (It was 100% accidental, Richie had no idea he was using the actual Voice of Mr. Nell) so in this chapter again, his use of a Voice is accidental. Hopefully I explained it well enough that nobody is confused.

"I have to go back, guys. I can't do this, I can't leave him-" Richie murmured into his clasped hands, held in front of his face as if he were praying. Bev reached over to place her hand over his, squeezing once.

"We will, Richie, it's okay, I know how...how hard this is. H...he was my friend, too." Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and Richie inwardly kicked himself for only thinking about getting Eddie's body out of the sewers and not of everyone else's loss, too.

"Bevvie, I-I...I'm sorry..."

She took that as an invitation to fling her arms around him and sob into his shoulder. He embraced her in return, biting his lip to hold back his own tears. He couldn't be selfish...not now, when they needed him. 

"Why? Of all of us, why did it have to be Eds...?" Richie whispered numbly. He didn't worry about offending any of the others, he knew them well enough to know that the loss of Eddie was a powerful blow to the entire Loser's Club. 

Ben was driving Richie's sleek red sports car, having been able to tell that Richie was too distraught over the loss of Eddie to drive, Bill wasn't speaking, just staring numbly at Audra and crying silently anytime Eddie's name was mentioned, and Beverly was just trying desperately to hold her boys together.

"I...I'm sorry, guys." Ben mumbled into the steering wheel. "Maybe if I had just...stayed put by Eddie instead of trying to help."

Bev bit her lip. "No, Ben, it's not your fault....I-If I hadn't missed the first time....if I had taken out the deadlights with my first shot he wouldn't be-"

Richie shook his head, wiping his own bitter tears from his face roughly. "Don't do this, guys. I...I don't _blame_ any of you. Even you, Bill. We all....we all knew what could happen. We all _knew_ the risks. Eds..." he broke off, looking defeated. His normally witty banter and jokes seemed all but nonexistent, his persona just...empty. "....he...would be so fucking mad at us right now. He'd be pissed that we weren't celebrating. We...we did a good thing down there. We killed It! We avenged all the kids. No more will go missing. They'll be safe to just...grow up and be happy." 

Ben and Bev both nodded in agreement, even Bill slowly inclining his head.

Richie sat back against the seat heavily, fingers itching for a cigarette. "Then _why_ does it hurt so goddamned bad!?" he asked, the pain in his features palpable.

His heart ached whenever he thought of Eddie, still the shortest of their group even after twenty seven years. Richie towered above most of the Losers except for Mike who was 6' 4", a whole inch shorter than him. 

Richie knew he had a bit of a...'thing' for Eddie. Hell, only after leaving Derry and living in more accepting areas did Richie realize he had a thing for girls _and_ guys, but of course by that time any memory of Eddie had been faint, like that of a childhood crush. Someone who was once important but now you couldn't even remember the name of. 

When he set foot into that Chinese restaurant after twenty seven years had passed and laid eyes on Eddie...

It was like being blind his entire life and then suddenly and abruptly being able to see the sun.

He gaped like an idiot and quickly threw out a joke to distract them before anyone noticed the way he stared at Eddie like he was the actual embodiment of everything beautiful. Richie remembered thinking how glad he was Stan wasn't there yet. The Jewish boy he had grown up with was so observant he would have called Richie out on his bullshit immediately.

Upon learning what had become of Stan, Richie had gone pale and quiet along with the rest of them, anguish bubbling just underneath the surface.

He had grown up with Stan, gone to his bar mitzvah, supported him through his possible gay crisis, watched him succeed and grow up into a proud man, his curls tucked neatly underneath his graduation cap. By that point it had just been Richie, Stan, and Mike. Eddie's mother had snapped and dragged him across the country to live with her sisters after his sophomore year, convinced that Richie and all his other friends were a bad influence.

Those two years without Eddie were rough on Richie. Stan helped hold him together, as Bill and Ben had both moved shortly before the start of high school. Mike tried to help but after his grandfather passed away, he had to step up and run the farm or else risk losing his main source of income.

Richie had slipped without Eddie, slipped hard. He found himself ducking out of school, smoking weed and trying any and all hard drugs that were offered to him by his dealers. He drank whiskey and shots of tequila throughout the day, did whatever he could to make his heart stop hurting so damn bad, spending hours sitting at the foot of his bed with his hands entangled in his hair.

Eddie and Richie had sworn to write and to call, but Richie knew something was wrong when the letters lost their familiarity, the inside jokes, the little tidbits strewn throughout that made them feel like Eddie was just in the other room instead of on the other side of the nation.

The calls stopped making Richie feel better; in fact, they made him feel worse.

They all knew leaving Derry made you forget. It had happened with Bev, years prior. She had gone to Portland with her aunt and then suddenly after a few months it was like she no longer remembered them or what they went through.

That was a rough time for all of them.

But to have to relive it, relive your closest friend slowly forgetting that you existed, only with Eddie? It was too much.

When Richie answered the phone and heard Eddie say, "Hello, um.....Ronnie?", he had hung up, staring at the receiver in brokenhearted disbelief. 

Eddie had forgotten him, forgotten _them._

It was Stan who bailed Richie out of his mess, as per usual. He picked Richie up one day, the latter having been lying in a puddle of his own puke while he tripped out, and tossed Richie haphazardly into the shower.

"Get dressed." Stan said, arms crossed and looking distinctly unimpressed and out of place in his room. "You're better than this, and you're done with all the drugs. Enough is enough. What would Eddie think?" Richie's bedroom, once decorated with band posters, video game advertisements, and polaroids of all seven members of the Losers Club, had now been changed. The band posters had been torn down in drug induced fits of rage, empty liquor bottles littered the room, even stacked on top of his record player. That's how Stan knew it had gotten bad, if Richie wasn't even turning to music to lift his spirits.

As he waited for Richie to get out of the shower, he squinted at the Polaroids hanging on a string with clothes pins holding them up above Richie's bed. Each one was a candid shot of the face of each Loser, back before Beverly had moved and when Richie had gone through his 'photography' phase. 

There was a letter written in red sharpie overtop of each face of the Losers that had moved away, spelling out:

L O S V E 

The 'L' was for Beverly; the first of them to go.

The 'O' was for Big Bill; his parents couldn't bear to stay in the town after Georgie's body had been recovered and buried.

The 'S' was for Ben, his mother ended up finding a good job down south that would pay enough to afford a house for her and Ben.

The 'V' had just been added over Eddie's face recently, the ink still seeming to be undried. It dribbled down like blood, or perhaps tears.

The 'E' that had been scrawled over Mike's face was hastily done and probably happened while Richie was tripping, judging by the red stains on his fingers and the uncapped Sharpie leaving an ink stain on his pillow.

Stan sighed, picked up the marker, and wrote an 'R' over his own face. He had just found out that he would be leaving after graduation.

Leaving Richie alone.

Mike had sworn he would do what he could for Richie, offer him a job on the farm, stay close, stay in touch, but it turned out to be unnecessary.

Richie got his shit together, slowly and with a lot of help from Stan. At the end of his senior year, Richie graduated with a 3.7 GPA and had been drug free for nearly the whole time. And even though his parents didn't show up to graduation, Stan clapped a hand on his shoulder and told him he was proud of him.

And that was enough.

After Stan left, promising to write as well but both knowing that he would forget too, Richie packed up his meager belongings and headed for LA. 

Once his room was emptied, he noticed the photos slung across the bed frame. The sharpie was still clipped to the string, dangling there like a warning.

Richie drew an 'S' over the picture of his own face and walked out of his house, never to return.

He had no way of knowing but his mom never took them down, leaving the photos of the LOSVERS club to smile out at an empty bedroom for the next twenty seven years.

Richie missed Stan and Eddie so much that it hurt.

Back in the car, Ben, Bev, and Bill sat in silence, looking forlorn and quiet. 

Richie hated awkward silences and he knew that Eddie did, too.

"Y...you know what Eddie would say right now, about us mourning him...? H-He'd be so mad at me for doing a Voice of him, said I never got him quite right-"

Ben looked into the rear view mirror warningly. "Maybe it's a little too soon to-"

But it was too late, Richie was already talking, and for an instant it sounded like the ghost of Eddie Kaspbrak had suddenly joined them all in the backseat. They could practically see him waving his arms about and getting all worked up.

_"Seriously, you big babies, I'm not fucking mad at you! Now get your shit together and take care of Bill, damn it! He needs you right now!"_

Richie clapped his hands over his own mouth, brow furrowed in confusion. He hadn't meant to say that...

Ben slammed on the brakes, pulling over onto the shoulder. His eyes were wide in disbelief, looking back at Richie in stunned shock. Bill and Bev likewise wore similar expressions. There was no way that had just been an impression, it was too accurate. Too real. Richie's normal voice was much too deep to ever be able to pull off Eddie's higher pitched voice during a freak out like the one Richie had just done seemingly without effort.

Richie's eyes were wide, one hand reaching up to brush against his mouth as if wondering where the hell Eddie's voice had come from. "What the fuck..." he whispered in his own voice, looking up at the other Losers with a stricken look.

"I...I didn't mean to do that. To say that. I _didn't!"_

Bill all of a sudden looked very, very tired. "Beep beep, Richie." he said wearily, turning back to the front seat.

"Bill!"

Their leader didn't turn around. "You know, it's pretty disrespectful to make jokes like that after we just lost Eddie. I can't _believe_ you right now."

Ben and Beverly shared glances, seemingly unsure about what had just happened.

Richie was gobsmacked, stung by the harsh words, and his anger was quick to flare up in response. "Are you shitting me right now, Bill? You think I would fucking _joke_ about Eddie's death? I _loved_ him, you fucking asshole!"

Bev placed a pitying hand on his shoulder but he shook her off. A strange sort of idea was beginning to form and he wanted out of the car. He needed to think.

When they had been doing the ritual of Chüd back in the sewers, Richie had started screaming at Pennywise in his Irish Cop Voice. He didn't know what had compelled him to do that, but he knew that it wasn't just an impression. Richie had somehow literally channeled Mr. Nell, the old Irish cop that used to watch over them as kids in Derry, the only adult who seemed to really give a shit. The Voice that had left his mouth was that of any and all Irish policemen who had even patrolled the darkened streets after curfew, a flask of gin at their hip and a verbal tongue lashing on their lips for anyone who dared put a toe out of line. It was the best Voice he'd ever done and when he had done it, just for a moment, he could have sworn that he had...'seen' an image of an old man in a nursing home screaming the same words as him, before collapsing dead of a heart attack. Now, Richie didn't want to buy in to all this 'Turtle' bullshit that had guided them as children, but he just couldn't explain that as anything other than a vision.

Just then, when he had done an Eddie Voice, he had the same sort of 'sensation', and had seen for an instant, dirty sewer walls, a thin man that looked strikingly like Eddie crying out the same words as him, before collapsing into filthy water. There had been a flash of a yellow raincoat, someone had yelled, 'Stan!', but he had snapped back to the present before Richie could hear any more. And didn't that name hit him right in the gut..?

Something really strange had happened, something originating from the sewers, and he wanted to know just what the fuck it was. 

"Whatever. Just fuck off, then. Ben? Drive everyone back to the hotel and leave my car there. I'll be back later." He snapped, throwing open the passenger door and storming out before Beverly could say anything.

"W-Wait, Richie, what are you doing?" Ben asked worriedly, still behind the wheel.

"I gotta make some calls." Was all he would say, walking over to a decrepit looking payphone and shoving quarters in angrily. Ben waited for a moment, Bill and Beverly seeming to be talking amongst themselves, before finally the sleek red sports car inched its way back onto the highway and headed towards the inn.

Richie clung to the receiver, worry and the thought that he must be crazy running through his head.

"Hi, yeah, this is Richie Tozier. Yeah, the comedian. Listen, I need to rent some climbing gear. Can you put somebody on the line that'll make it happen? I need it yesterday. Yeah? Kickass. Thanks, op."

He was going to get Eddie's body out of that sewer come hell or high water, and hopefully the closure of seeing him dead would make those strange disjointed thoughts of him running around in the sewers disappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: They finally get out of the sewers, yaaaay!!


	8. The Sweet Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan, Georgie, and Eddie finally breathe fresh air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a few hours late, I accidentally slept through my alarm. ;)

Eventually the three lost boys fell into a light sleep, Eddie constantly squirming and flipping his position to try and lay in a way that didn't put pressure on his arms. Finally he got comfortable and stilled, one hand clinging tightly to the sleeve of Georgie's raincoat as if to stop the boy from vanishing in the night. Stan was curled on Georgie's other side, in a position that looked so incredibly uncomfortable it was crazy that he had even fallen asleep.

Georgie didn't sleep well that night. 

He kept feeling like something small was scuttling over his feet, and he kept having horrible nightmares of Bill saying he didn't love him and that he was just a dumb little kid. He dreamt of a clown ripping his arm from his shoulder.

Eddie dreamt of being forever trapped in the sewers, screaming for help and receiving none. Stan and Georgie were gone and he was alone and dirty and oh so _afraid._ He felt like there were tiny little spider legs running up and down his body, it was maddening.

Stan's sleeping face twisted into a grimace, hands clenching tightly into fists. He dreamt of his bathroom, spotlessly clean and organized. The bathtub was full, and the spout dripped the occasional single droplet into the water. A box of unopened razor blades was sitting innocently next to the edge of the tub, and as Stan stood there staring, an itchy, uncomfortable feeling like insects were touching him lingering stubbornly, he knew what he had to do.

He reached out and took the box.

His bathroom door rattled violently, and he could hear his six closest friends on the other side. Only they weren't trying to talk him out of it.

 _"Gonna run away again, you coward?"_ Beverly hissed.

 _"Do it right this time."_ Ben stated coldly.

 _"About time you figured out we don't care about you."_ Mike said lowly.

 _"You were too scared to help us! We needed you!"_ Richie cried.

 _"I died because you weren't there."_ Eddie said softly in a small voice.

Stan knew who was coming next and couldn't bear to face his disappointment.

 _"Wait, Stan, don't do it!"_ Bill said, and for an instant a glimmer of hope welled in his chest.

 _"Open the door first. I want to see if it's true what they say. Will you float?"_ Bill asked cruelly, opening the door with a smile. His eyes glowed a sick molten yellow.

Stan knew how to escape from this. 

He knew what to do. 

Stan drove the razor blade into the flesh of his arm before he could second guess himself.

The blood floated upwards.

After an unknown amount of time, a loud but distant _'thud'_ echoed down the tunnel they were in, and Stan bolted awake in an instant, face pale and sweaty, clinging to his forearm as if checking for blood.

"What was that?" Eddie hissed, the arm in a cast tightly pulling Georgie close even as the boy yawned sleepily.

Stan bit his lip, realizing that they didn't have any weapons, nothing to defend themselves with. He wished for an instant he had hung onto that rusty baseball bat. "I'm not sure. Maybe it was just an animal or-"

There was a large metallic _clang_ and Georgie screamed in fear, Eddie cursing and handing the boy over to Stan. 

"It's coming from the other end of the cave, fucking back out!" he instructed frantically, his voice deadly serious despite being tinged with panic. Stan scooped Georgie up into his arms and darted for the other entrance, only for the noise to come again, closer.

_CLANG._

The entrance that led back to the room Eddie had died in was blocked, somehow, the former opening to the cavern now replaced by unmoving rock. "What the hell?!" Stan choked out in disbelief. Eddie's jacket hung over a stone wall, no longer the breezy entrance into the cavern that it once was. His fingers trailed the smooth stone, as if trying to uncover the reason why this path was no longer open to them. It didn't make _sense and things had to make sense-!_

"We're stuck!" Georgie cried loudly, arms wrapping tightly around Stan's neck as he buried his head into his chest and sobbed. "I'm scared, make it go away, Stanny, make it stop, I just wanna go home! Billy!"

Stan realized Eddie was still just standing there, staring into the darkness where the noise was coming from with his lips pulled back into a snarl, body placed in a defensive stance.

"Eddie, wait, what are you doing!? We don't know what's down there!"

Eddie stepped forward into the darkness. "I don't care what you are...you will _not touch them."_ he hissed in the direction of the sound, fists clenched. He could feel like his blood was boiling in his veins, fury rising in his chest. Was this some sort of trick? Could Pennywise still be alive and roaming these tunnels? How else would their exit have been so suddenly cut off? If It was, Eddie didn't even care. He fucking _dared_ the source of the noise to try and hurt Stan or Georgie. Eddie had already died once for his friends, he would do it again with no hesitation.

A horribly bright light abruptly poured down the tunnel, and they all flinched violently, turning away. They had been in the dark sewers for an entire day, and this bright light scorched and burned their delicate eyes. 

"Who the fuck is camping down in the sewers?!" A loud voice called, none of theirs, echoing madly around the enclosed space. That voice made a sudden hitched noise, an injured one, and suddenly the flashlight was lowered enough so that they could all see the muddied and anguished face of Richie Tozier, wearing a climber's harness and a backpack. He gaped at Eddie like a fish out of water, having recognized the man standing at the front in an instant.

_"E...Eddie?!"_

Eddie stared up at Richie, dumbfounded, with an expression as if he had saved the world singlehandedly. "Richie..!" he breathed in disbelief, taking a stumbling step forwards.

Richie quickly lowered himself into the mouth of their tunnel, unclamping safety harnesses and pulling the shorter man into a bruising hug. Stan could hear his harsh sobs of disbelief all the way to the back of the tunnel.

"E-Eds, oh my God, wh-what is...how did you...your _arm,_ it's back, _you're_ back, h-how....?" He trailed off, looking absolutely speechless.

Stan nervously stepped forward, Georgie still keeping his head down and tucked under his chin. Georgie seemed to have been stricken by shyness, not wanting to show his face to the newcomer. Stan gulped once, feeling ashamed to face Richie, especially after the nightmare he had just had. 

Wouldn't the other Losers hate him for what he had done? Wasn't it his fault that Eddie had died? He hid his fears behind bravado in a performance even Richie would have been proud of. "Wow, for once the Trashmouth is actually at a loss for words. Good thing I was brought back too, or I never would have seen it." he stated with a small smirk.

Richie's jaw dropped even further, looking from Eddie to Stan in an instant before a snarky grin took over his features. He looked like someone had told him Christmas was coming early that year, and only had eyes for Eddie and Stan, seeming to not even notice the yellow bundle in the latter's arms. "Well, fuck my ass and call me a cowboy, Stan the Man! Figures you'd be the one 'fashionably late' as always. It would take your literal death and then random resurrection to keep you away from me, wouldn't it?"

Stan's fears of Richie being mad slowly melted away, and he smiled.

Eddie sighed wearily despite the large grin on his face, seeming entirely comfortable tucked slightly under Richie's arm. "Cut the shit, Richie."

The man had grown since they were boys. The last time Stan had seen him in person was when they had all waved him and his family off, when they moved away the week after he graduated high school. Back then Richie had been a gangly, awkward teen caught halfway between being too damn tall and too damn skinny, so strung out on drugs during most of his junior year that Stan was amazed he had survived it.

Now he hadn't put on much more weight, but his clothes seemed to fit him properly at least. His hair was still a wild mess of black curls going every which way and defying gravity, but his glasses were gone, allowing his dark brown eyes to shine brightly out of his face. It looked like at some point his father had arranged for him to get braces, as Richie's once oversized and off kilter teeth were now aligned in a perfect row. Not only that, but he walked with more confidence, and spoke like every line was a performance. Richie had done that as a kid, too, but back then it had just been funny to look at. Now it was still funny, but in a completely genuine way. Stan could tell that whatever career Richie had made for himself in show business, it was treating him well. 

"You look good, Richie. Still clean?" Stan asked seriously.

Richie swallowed once, ignoring Eddie's questioning look and rubbing the back of his head. "As a whistle. But if you're asking about STDs, no sirree, caught 'em all from Eddie's mom, thank you."

Eddie scowled and swatted Richie on the back of the head. "Fuck you, you could be a little bit more excited to see us!"

Richie grinned and began peppering Eddie's cheeks with over the top kisses and ignoring Eddie's embarrassed squawks and bright red cheeks. "Oh and I _am,_ Eds, honest. I'll show you just how happy I am later, but there's a Stanley present at the moment. Unless you want a kiss, too, Stanny?"

Stan rolled his eyes, although his expression was fond and he could feel his throat growing tight. He had forgotten how much he missed his old friends, missed _Richie._ "B-Beep beep, Tozier. I'm not in the mood." he said instead, a faint smile on his face despite his words.

Richie laughed loudly even though there were tears of joy in his eyes as he looked from Eddie to Stan and back again, as if they would disappear if he took his attention off them for any period of time. "Not in the mood? Maybe I'll check in with you later, hot stuff. Gimme a raincheck on all that Jewish sugar-"

Georgie took that opportunity to poke his head up. "Is that different from the normal kind?" He asked curiously, and the blood rushed from Richie's face so fast it almost made Stan laugh.

"O...Oh, _Christ,_ that's..."

Georgie grinned, revealing a single missing tooth, one that the tooth fairy had taken nearly twenty seven years ago. "Uh huh! It's me, Georgie, 'member? You...you 'member me, don'cha Richie?" His voice trailed off somewhat hesitantly.

Richie reached out to touch him, as though not believing he could even be real. "Y...yeah, kiddo. 'Course I remember you. How could I forget?" he asked, but his voice was thick with unshed tears.

Georgie just grinned. "Can't forget me, Richie, that wouldn't be very nice. Can we go home now? I wanna see Billy."

Richie gave a watery smile and nodded. "Yeah, Georgie. We're gonna go home now. All of us."

Eddie and Stan traded twin looks of total relief, both of them feeling the strain of exhaustion and hunger. "Do you know the way, Richie?" Stan asked, examining the taller man's climbing equipment closely.

Richie rolled his eyes and drug Eddie closer to him. "That's what good ole Spaghetti Man is for! I can't believe you guys have been wandering around here forever. What exactly were you three waiting for, for us Losers up top to roll out the red carpet? No offense, but that was a bad plan on your part, this was a reunion _nobody_ was expecting."

Eddie shoved Richie away, cheeks red with embarrassment even as he looked down sadly. "Because... I...something's wrong with me. I can't...I don't know the way anymore. I can't navigate. It's just... _gone."_ He looked so ashamed about it that Stan felt a wave of pity for the younger man. 

Richie's lips formed a small 'o' of surprise, but he didn't let it stop him from talking, recovering quickly and continuing on as thought nobody had said anything wrong. "Nah, that's okay, maybe now you won't be such a damned backseat driver. Don't worry, I brought one of these bad boys." He pulled a clunky looking digital box of some sort out of a pouch in the harness. "GPS, it should be able to lead us back out." He prodded a few buttons experimentally and nodded matter of factly as it gave a shrill beep. 

Stan squinted at it distrustfully. "That thing looks like it hasn't been properly maintained in years."

Richie grinned. "All the more fun, right, Staniel? C'mon, Eds and Georgie Porgie, let's get the hell out of here."

"Don't call me 'Eds'." Eddie grumbled good naturedly as they walked together, Richie's GPS giving the occasional beep or boop as they turned back and forth through tunnels.

Georgie grinned and wriggled out of Stan's grip to jump up and grab onto Richie's hand. The size difference was striking considering Georgie had only been born seven years after Richie. "I wanna sandwich! A big one!"

Stan nodded. "We'll, ah... We'll get you one, as soon as we're out."

"M'kay."

Richie couldn't keep the grin off his face the whole time they walked, even up until actual sunlight shone in on the tunnel and they stepped out of the sewers from a drain and into the Barrens. The trees were thick and the area humid, but to three out of the four of them, it smelt _just_ like home.

For the first time in a long time, Richie felt like maybe everything would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could just end it right here, but where's the fun in that? ;)


	9. Beverly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben drives Beverly, Bill, and Audra to the hospital, and they prepare to tell Mike who they've lost. Beverly confronts her feelings for Bill and Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks for all the love on this story! ;) One thing I wanted to address real quick: I know a lot of you just want to see Georgie and Bill reunite and see everyone's reactions to Stan, Eddie, and Georgie, but I don't want to rush into something so crucial to the story. Plus there will be more going on in this tale than just 'oh everyone's alive and happy now'. Sorry, I know that's not what some of you wanted to hear, but please just bear with me and hopefully you'll enjoy! Thanks!

Ben gripped the steering wheel tightly in his large hands, seeming to be fighting against every instinct which wanted him to slam on the brakes, go back, and put Richie back in the car with them. Where he belonged. The sense of the Seven being separated was intense and painful, and honestly it was all he could do to just drive forward at all.

Beverly seemed to sense his distraction and reached up to trace little pictures on his forearm, her fingernails dancing lightly over his skin. That kept him focused enough (and red faced) all the way back to the main road running through the center of Derry.

Bill was still holding Audra close, biting his lip and clinging to her like she was going to break apart if he didn't. She stared blankly ahead, seeming unconcerned by what was happening around her.

Bev bit her lip, ignoring the way it smudged her lipstick and left the taste of it on her tongue. Richie may have gone about it the wrong way, but what he had said, with Eddie's voice? It was true. They needed to focus on Bill right now. Eddie was gone and they couldn't do anything to bring him back.

Her breath hitched as she realized Ben had pulled into the parking lot of the hospital that Mike was staying at. "Benny, what are we doing..?"

Ben sighed wearily. "I think it would be good for them to take a look at Audra, and we can fill in Mike on what happened. I bet he's going crazy in there."

Bill nodded numbly, grief still evident on his features even as he brushed hair out of Audra's face. "Please, won't you just...wake up...?" he murmured softly, all hope gone from his voice.

Audra blinked once, slowly, but her glassy gaze didn't waver from where it was fixed on Richie's car keys; the ugly bunch of keychains and accessories dangling out of the ignition. Bev could spot a lighter on a chain, miniature fuzzy dice, and a small cartoony blue turtle wearing sunglasses. A 'Squirtle' or something was what he had called it. Still, nothing to command Audra's total attention like it was. 

"Let's get her inside." Ben said, taking charge as it was clear that Bill was too out of it to lead them. "We need to talk to Mike, let him know about.....Eddie."

Bev's heart broke a little bit more at the reminder that _'he's dead, another one of your boys is dead!'_ and tried to push her emotions back. She would mourn later, and most likely in Ben's company. The man had been her rock since they had all returned to Derry, the overweight and quiet young boy having blossomed into a strong, handsome architect who seemingly only wanted to see her happy. He had been so sweet, so caring, that Beverly couldn't help but fall a little bit in love with him. 

A part of her still loved Bill; a part of her always would, but it wasn't the same. He had Audra now, and while Beverly somewhat wished it could be her that he looked at like that, like she herself had painted the stars in the sky, Beverly knew that any chance of a romance between her and Bill had long passed.

Maybe if things had been different. 

But the fact of the matter was that things were the way they were. Bill was married now for Christ's sakes, and Beverly was not the kind of woman who would knowingly go after a married man. Besides, after losing both Stan, Eddie, and to a lesser extent Audra within the span of three days, Bill needed his _friend_ Beverly right now, not for her to confuse him by confessing long forgotten feelings. 

Besides, upon seeing Ben again, and remembering how sweet and kind to her he had always been, unfailingly courteous, well...it was making her feelings for Bill seem a little silly. Childish and foolish, back when you fell in love with whoever was the tallest and most charming. It stung a little to think that maybe she had been a bit shallow, fooled by Ben's outward appearance. True, she had never treated him like less of a person because of his size, but she had never even considered him as the possible mystery poet. 

She had never considered Ben as more than just a friend. 

Beverly couldn't help but feel like perhaps there was now a connection between her and the slimmed down architect, but...

Having finally had the secret of who wrote the poem she found in her mailbox as a teenager had mixed things up for her. She had always thought it had been Bill who wrote it, but...it was _Ben._ Even the poem itself had been reminiscent of the boy who wrote it; innocent, sweet, and overflowing with genuine love. 

Even looking back on it now, she couldn't believe that she hadn't immediately realized it had been Ben who wrote it. Bill may have been a writer but he preferred horror over romance. Besides, the only member of the Loser's Club who ever acted embarrassed around her was Ben, right from the very start. From the very first day she had leapt off the cliff of the quarry into the Kenduskeag, she could sometimes feel eyes on her. But it didn't feel the same way it did when her father or men like Mr. Keene looked at her. 

Like she was an object, a _possession,_ and they wanted her even if they had to take her by force.

No, Ben looked at her like she was a performance, like all he wanted to do was admire and appreciate her from afar, because he knew that her beauty was for everyone.

It made her feel _special._

Ben opening the passenger door for her and resting a gentle hand on her forearm snapped her out of her thoughts, and Beverly gave him a watery smile in return. 

It was back to reality.

Stan was dead, Eddie was dead, Richie was off gallivanting God-knows-where, Mike was confined to a hospital bed for the known future, and Bill was too...broken to lead them right now.

It was oddly reminiscent of the way Bill's parents had acted around him after Georgie died. A small part of her wondered whether that was just because that was how Denbroughs mourned or if he had picked it up from them after a childhood based around distance. Either possibility bothered Bev, but regardless, she knew a few things to be true.

It was just her and Ben left to piece their broken family back together.

Beverly knew she had to step up to the task.

She stood tall, wiped away her tears, cleared her throat, and led them all inside, her stride long and confident even as she called a nurse over for Audra.

Two of her boys were dead, gone forever. 

That was a fact.

Four of them remained, and while they may be hurt and damaged, she would do whatever she had to do in order to make sure they stayed _alive._

That was _also_ a fact.

Bev was too busy helping Bill lower Audra into a wheelchair and rolled over to an examination office to notice, but Ben was staring at her like she herself had painted the stars in the sky.


	10. Mike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Audra is checked into the hospital and Ben, Bev, and Bill tell Mike that Eddie has been killed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I decided to post 2 chapters today (since they kind of go together anyways) so if you haven't read the last chapter you might want to go check and make sure you didn't skip it. Thanks for reading! Love you guys!

Bill was glued to Audra's side, biting his lip and holding her hand tightly even as the doctors told him she would need to be admitted for further testing to be done. Her room was number 207, on a higher floor than Mike, who currently resided at 103. 

"Will she recover? Is th-this...puh-p-permanent?" he asked, looking stricken. His stutter, which had almost been completely gone just a few days ago (when he had been oblivious of anything wrong back in the UK) had returned in full force when he did. 

The doctor, a tall and clean cut man of about sixty named Mr. Riggs, sighed as he flipped through charts and papers on a clipboard. "At this point, Mr. Denbrough, it's too early to draw conclusions. We'll have to do some initial tests, if you're comfortable with that."

Bill nodded quickly. "Do all the tests you n-need, anythuh-thing. Puh-Please. Muh-Money isn't a quh-question. We're both rather wuh-wealthy..."

The doctor nodded once. "I'll go ahead and get her lined up for a CT scan, then. I had been wanting to ask if she was _the_ Audra Denbrough and wanted to inform you that no publicity will come of this visit, I can assure you. This will be kept in the strictest confidence."

Bill relaxed into his chair. "That's guh-good to huh-hear." The last thing he needed right now was paparazzi, not to mention Grecko, breathing down his neck and bothering Audra while she was trying to recover.

Doctor Riggs nodded once. "Now, if you'd like to head down the hall to the information desk, they can begin processing your insurance and we'll begin some tests." 

Bill gave a weary sigh and agreed as Ben poked his head into the room. "I'll walk with you, Bill. We need to go give Mike an...an update, once you're finished."

The author got to his feet and followed Ben out the door, numbly handing over his insurance information and signing countless forms at the help desk before being led down the stairs and in front of Mike's door. Waiting outside in a chair and looking distracted was Beverly.

"How's Audra..?" she asked as they approached, tossing the magazine she had been reading aside to focus on Bill and Ben's words.

Bill's shoulders were slumped and defeated, and since they had left the sewers, it almost felt like they had lost him to the deadlights as well. He was distant and even more quiet than usual. Ben and Beverly were both worried.

"Sh-She's...unchanged." he breathed out finally, one hand coming up to spin the thick gold wedding band on his ring finger nervously. What if she never recovered? What if she was stuck in this state because he was too stubborn to talk to her, explain things in a way where she wouldn't follow him? Her condition was his fault.

Ben set a hand on his shoulder and squeezed once before turning his attention to Bev. "Any word from Richie? It's been almost three hours now...I'm kind of worried."

Beverly looked down glumly at her feet. "No, I haven't heard anything. I didn't even think to give him the hospital or the inn's phone number before he left..."

Bill remained quiet, merely inclining his head once. "He'll cuh-come back...eventually. If he n-needs the number huh-he can juh-j-just call the o-operator."

Beverly sighed and got to her feet, brushing off her clothes. "Let's go in and talk to Mike. He was sleeping when I got here, so maybe he's up now."

Ben nodded gravely. "It's good that he could grab some sleep at all. Frankly I don't know if I'll be able to sleep for a week."

Beverly gave him a sad smile and reached out to squeeze his hand. "It'll....it'll all be okay, Ben."

He flushed red but smiled back.

When they walked in, Mike was skimming through a newspaper, brow furrowed and looking as though he would rather be anywhere but in the bed. He looked up hopefully when they entered but his eyes widened and the newspaper slipped from his fingers.

It was at that instant that Beverly realized how it looked. 

They had left to go defeat It; left as a group of five.

Only three of them were currently present.

Mike hitched in a quivering breath, impending panic evident. "Where's... R...Richie..?! Eddie...!?" he choked out, and to their growing horror, tears were beginning to slowly run down his cheeks. None of them had ever seen Mike cry before. "Oh, God, this is all my fault, I should have never called you back-!" His hands clenched in grief although he had nothing to hold on to.

Beverly darted over to the bed and squeezed his hand tightly. "No, no, don't say that, Mike, it's okay, it'll all be okay."

He shook his head back and forth stubbornly, seeming to be too lost in his own anguish to even hear her. "Richie, Eddie...Richie, Eddie, _Stan,_ if I wouldn't have called he wouldn't have killed himself, he would still be _alive!"_ His breaths were quickening and he appeared to be on the verge of a total breakdown.

Beverly felt at a loss, a few tears running down her own face at seeing her normally stoic and kind friend falling apart in front of her. "No, Mike, please don't cry, you'll rip out your stitches, just....Ben, please, can you help me talk to him?" she murmured, reaching over to wipe Mike's tears away with her thumb and her heart breaking a little bit with each one. 

Bev would do anything to never have to see Mike Hanlon cry like this again.

Ben stepped forward into the chair on the other side of the hospital bed. "Mike, Mike, can you hear me? Richie's alive, he's totally _fine,_ he just went-" He cut himself off abruptly as he realized telling Mike that Richie went back for Eddie's _corpse_ would only set him off worse. "He just stepped out for a bit. It's okay, and Stan is _not_ your fault, do you hear me? It's not your fault, Mike!" 

Mike squeezed his eyes shut tightly a drew in a quivering breath. "I...I never meant...I just... I'm so sorry for dragging you all back here, It...It could have killed any one of you, and I just... I couldn't even go down there with you!" He looked pained for a moment before something seemed to occur to him, and Mike's head shot up as he looked at the three other Losers worriedly. "W-Wait, where's...where's Eddie? Did he go with Richie...?"

Ben gulped lightly and shared a look with Beverly. Neither of them wanted to be the one to have to break the news to Mike.

Simultaneously they looked to Bill.

He stood there, face twisted into a grimace, leaning heavily on a chair and looking for all the world like he just wanted to disappear. He looked very old in that instant, and Beverly just knew she couldn't make him do it.

"Muh-Mike...listen, it's-"

"Bill, wait. I can... l-let me." Beverly spoke up, feeling less than worthless. She couldn't just assume that every difficult task had to be handled by Bill just because he was their leader. He had lost a lot today, more than any of them except for maybe Richie. Bev took a breath to try and steady herself, her lower lip wobbling dangerously on the exhale. "M...Mike, um, I don't know how to tell you this, but...Eddie, he's..." Her throat closed up and she had to swallow twice to get the words out. "M-Mike, I'm so sorry....E-Eddie's not...he's not coming back."

Mike's deep brown eyes grew very wide and he let out a low moan, like that of a dying animal. He laid his head back against the pillow and breathed in shakily. "N-no.....noooo, no, not Eddie, no, h-he has to be okay, he...!" His own hitched cries cut him off and he covered his face with his hands, sobbing into them quietly.

Ben gently slid his arm over his shoulders in as close to a hug as he could give to someone in a hospital bed, Bev clinging tightly to Mike's hand and crying with him.

Bill stepped out of the room.

He couldn't bear to watch his self created family mourn and cry over the death of one of their own. He couldn't stand to see Mike take all the blame onto his own shoulders. How could it be his fault when Bill himself had led them all down into the sewers, too concerned for Audra's safety to be careful and think up a plan?

And Eddie died for it.

Died for _them._

And to add insult to injury, Audra wasn't even okay. It wasn't even worth it, not to Bill. If Audra was forever trapped in this catatonic state, he didn't think he'd ever be able to forgive himself for rushing down to rescue what was essentially a living, breathing corpse. He had dragged them all along without a plan, too blinded by his grief to plan ahead, and Eddie paid the price.

The day stretched on, most of it spent bouncing from Audra's room as each test was completed with no tangible results, and going back to Mike's room to keep him company. He was even more quiet than usual, nearly statuesque, and it took all of Ben and Beverly's effort to even coax him to talk.

Finally, as the sun hit the horizon and the hospital quieted down, they were all asked politely by a nurse to go home for the night. The only one permitted to stay was Bill, as he was Audra's husband and primary emergency contact. He didn't say goodbye but inclined his head in their direction when they told him they were going to take Richie's car back to the hotel. He was so emotionally distant that again they wondered whether four of them had walked out of that sewer alive, or three.

Ben had squeezed Mike's hand in farewell before standing, cringing and stretching a bit. His legs and back were sore from spending most of the day in a chair. 

He glanced over at Beverly as they made their way down to the car and frowned as he saw how...blank she looked at the moment. It was like every emotion she had been expressing with Mike had been a carefully constructed mask of paper mache that was just now beginning to crumble. 

"Beverly...? Are you alright?" He asked softly. She blinked and started as if not expecting anybody to even talk to her right now, turning to him and putting the mask of a smile back on. 

"What? Oh, yes, I'm okay." she answered somewhat stiffly.

Ben's heart broke a little seeing her try to be strong for them. "It's okay if you're not. We went through a lot today, Bev..."

Her eyes darted to her boots, biting her lip and looking injured. "N-no, Ben, please don't..." She swallowed once and seemed to be trying to hold it together.

Normally Ben would respect her wishes, but in this scenario it was unhealthy for her to just shove her grief away to be strong for the rest of them. "Nobody expects you to be made of stone, Bev. You're entitled to your feelings, too. Just because Bill's...a little broken right now doesn't mean that it's gotta be you who steps up to lead." He slid inside the driver's side door and sat there for a moment, just waiting for her to get in.

She opened the passenger door and sat down heavily, burying her face in her hands. "I...I just... I want to be strong. For you guys."

Ben reached over in a moment of bravery and squeezed her hand. "Bev, strength isn't pushing your emotions away and pretending you don't feel them. Real strength is being able to feel those emotions and go on in spite of them."

Bev shook her head desperately with a tiny sniffle, her throat so thick with tears she couldn't have answered him verbally even if she wanted to. It was like she was doing everything in her power to hold them back, constructing a dam of unfeeling.

"How about we _all_ try to be strong for each other, instead of pushing that burden onto one single person? I'm not ashamed to admit I wouldn't be able to handle that pressure. So why should you feel like you have to...?" He asked softly, politely not acknowledging the way Beverly's quiet sobs echoed around the interior of the car. 

The dam had broken.

And when they arrived at the hotel, Beverly's eyes may have been red and puffy, her face may have been streaked with tears, but she still managed to give Ben a small but entirely genuine smile before she bade him goodnight and slipped into her room, shutting it quietly with a small _click._

How ironic was it that all those years ago, Ben had once shown her how to build a dam. And now, twenty seven years later, here he was, showing her how to tear one down.


	11. Back To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill tries to cope with Audra's condition and steps out for a moment to compose himself. He comes back to find Audra has an unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning, lovelies! Hope everyone is ready for some feels? Maybe? *sweats nervously* Please enjoy!

The sunlight shining in from the hospital window was what eventually roused Bill from his uneasy slumber. He squinted, grumbling as he sat up, before cringing at the sharp pain in his back from falling asleep in a hospital chair. Glancing over, he found Audra lying on the bed, staring ahead and seeing nothing. 

It was one of the most horrible sights he'd ever seen. The unknown, of whether she was aware and just stuck inside, or if she was just a shell of a person, barely even alive.

"Good muh-morning, Ah-Audra." he said softly, coming over to squeeze her hand slightly. It remained limp and cool in his own, and Bill had to fight back his tears. He gently brushed some deep auburn hair from her eyes and looked around for some sort of makeshift hair tie. After a few moments of shuffling through the hospital drawers, he came up only with a small zip tie. 

It would have to do. Audra always wanted to look her best, and if she wasn't able to do that for herself right now, Bill would. 

He spent a good twenty minutes gently untangling knots in her hair with his fingers, before slowly beginning a long braid. Once he got to the end, he pushed the end of the tie through the small latch and pulled it tight. It didn't look too bad for a first attempt, he thought idly to himself.

He wished so badly it hadn't been necessary.

"I'll b-be right buh-back, Audra." he murmured softly as he pressed a kiss to her temple, before standing up and heading to the coffee machine in the visitor's lounge.

The whole wall there he was distracted by thoughts dancing through his head. Eddie's face, twisted in anger and pain as he plunged his arm down Pennywise's throat up to the shoulder and screamed. The sound it made when he hit the ground. Seeing Audra nestled amongst the bodies wrapped up in webbing. His closest childhood friend, Stan, wondering what he had thought about before he decided to end it all. Bill thought of Georgie, and what he would look like as a man of thirty three years of age, if things had been different.

The distraught author was quite literally knocked out of his thoughts by a small, muddy looking boy in a plaid shirt sprinting down the hall and crashing into him, recovering quickly and continuing at a run without even looking back. "Sorry, mister! I gotta find my big brother!" he called over his shoulder, before disappearing down the hall. Bill's heart ached for Georgie at the familiar sound of a giggling little boy, wishing once again that things had been different.

"Get back here and put your coat on this instant!" A tall man with dark blonde curls and patent leather shoes said sternly, giving chase to the kid, a yellow raincoat thrown over his arm. He shot past Bill without even a glance in his direction and murmured a quick, "Excuse me," before he was gone, too, leaving the only the faintest muddy footprints behind to show he had even been there at all.

Bill hummed and glanced in the kid's direction, watching him disappear up the stairs with the man hot on his heels, smoothing down his shirt. He found himself wondering, _'Shouldn't he be keeping a better eye on his damned kids...? This is a hospital, not a playground!'_

Bill blamed his sour mood on his grief and before he knew it, his feet were leading him back to Audra's room. 

To his surprise and irritation, some mousy looking man was standing in the doorway, peering into Audra's room. Bill could spot something boxy in his hand and some straps dangling out of his grip. Paparazzi? 

Anger burned in Bill's chest and he stomped over, grabbing the man by the shoulder and spinning him around. "Tuh-take a hike, buddy, she's not a suh-sideshow act, so just f......" 

The man's brown eyes were wide with surprise, mouth open slightly from being whirled around so quickly. His hair was muddy and disheveled, and clutched tightly in his grip was _not_ a camera like Bill had initially suspected, but a GPS and what looked like a climbing harness. His jacket was absolutely trashed, one sleeve torn clean off, and the rest of it soaked in mud, blood, and foul smelling water. Bill couldn't believe the staff had allowed him inside looking like he did.

And then he realized that they couldn't _see it._

They couldn't see the blood, or mud, or smell him, because this was one of Them.

This was... _Eddie._

He...he was _alive..!_

And as he stared into the shorter man's face with disbelief, Bill began to cry; the stress of the day having finally brought him to his breaking point. He clutched the lapels of the smaller man's ruined jacket and sobbed into Eddie's chest, his legs giving out. A wave of palpable relief swept over him as he cried, and Bill could feel Eddie's hands _(hands plural two of them he's got both his arms even though one is still in that fucking cast but he's still got them)_ come up to cautiously rest on his shoulders, having let the climbing equipment hit the floor.

"Hey, hey now, shhh...please don't cry...I'm okay, Big Bill, honest..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TV announcer voice* Coming up next, the reunion you've all been waiting for~


	12. The Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill reunites with the one person he swore was gone forever, the one who left a hole in his heart when he had been killed all those years ago.
> 
> Georgie.
> 
> Then, Bill makes a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the chapter I've been building up to for nearly 20,000 words is here. ;3 Feel free to take a complimentary baseball bat and break my shins if it's not as good as you all were anticipating.

"Hey! What the hell, Bill, you moving in on my man?" came the voice of Richie Tozier, the tall man having just exited the bathroom on the same floor. He didn't look upset at all, instead, he was wearing an easy grin like everything was okay in the world for once. His clothes, like Eddie's, were muddy and stained.

Eddie shot him a distinctly unimpressed look, his arms still around the quivering mess that was Bill. "Beep beep, Richie. Help me get him back on his feet...?"

Bill waved him off as Richie knelt down to help him up, looking distinctly embarrassed but mostly just stunned. "I...I'm okay, I just...E-Eddie, I cuh-can't believe...h-how are...when did....whuh-what the-?"

Eddie laughed softly, placing a hand on his arm. "It's okay, Bill, just breathe. Jeez, did you cry like this for Stan and Georgie, too?"

He realized his mistake in an instant as Bill's eyes went wide, swiftly turning to face him and grabbing his shoulders tightly. "Whuh-What did you just say? St-Stan? Juh-Juh-Georgie!? They're alive!?" Bill didn't want to dare to hope. His eyes were large and intense, and Eddie took a tiny step back, shooting Richie an incredulous and slightly panicked look.

"You didn't tell him?!"

Richie held his hands up in a placating gesture. "I hadn't even seen Bill yet! I had to take a piss, sue me!" he whined.

Bill grabbed Eddie and Richie's hands and tugged them after him as he rushed down the halls. "Thuh-They're _here-?_ We have to find them, n-now! I-I need t-to _see-!"_

Richie rolled his eyes but grinned over at Eddie. "We get it, Bill, just cool your jets, okay? Georgie ditched his jacket and Stan was having a conniption about it because all three of them are borderline hypothermic after their little sewer excursion. Not to mention they all could use a hot meal." Richie emphasized this by prodded Eddie in the ribs, earning a small 'hey!' from the man in question. "Lookit 'im! 'e's skin an' bones!" he crowed in some sort of silly parody of a British accent.

Instead of calming Bill down that only seemed to amp him up, glancing over his shoulder at the shortest of the three. "Hypothermic...? Do you nuh-need a coat...? Damn it, Eddie, wh-when did yuh-you eat last? Are y-you alright?" Something seemed to occur to him and his eyes widened. "Wuh-were you stuck in the s-sewers this _wh-whole time!?"_

Eddie flushed slightly under the intense scrutiny. "Bill, I'm okay, honest. Richie drug us to McDonalds before we came here. I ate, I'm fine now."

Richie sniffed. "Yeah, alright, Mr. Medium Fries and a Diet Coke."

Bill's eyes widened in worry and alarm. "That's all yuh-you ordered? Buh-But you didn't eat breakfast before we went to fuh-fight It, a-and yuh-you didn't eat anything ah-after the Chinese food place!"

Eddie flipped Richie off for letting that tidbit of information slip. "I'm supposed to pace myself and not eat too much too quickly or I'll throw up, oh my God Richie I explained that to you in the taxi! And tell Bill what happened when you didn't stop Stan from ordering two Big Macs, a fish sandwich, and a twenty piece order of chicken nuggets!?"

Richie grinned shamelessly. "He threw up."

"He _threw up!_ In the backseat of the taxi! _Next to where I was sitting!_ And he somehow didn't even get a fucking drop on himself! Do you even realize how many diseases can be spread through vomit!?"

Richie laughed lightly into his palm, eyes sparkling madly. "No, I don't, but I'm sure you're gonna tell me, aren'tcha?"

Bill went to tell them both to knock it off, but froze as they turned down the hallway. There, in front on a vending machine and currently wagging his finger disapprovingly, was the man from before. Stanley Uris. In front of him looking appropriately chastised and guilty, was the running child he had disregarded in the hallway. Georgie Denbrough.

Bill's heart thudded to a halt, stepping forward as if entranced.

"G...Georgie?" he breathed, looking for all the world like he had just been sucker punched. Bill didn't dare to move, as if stepping forward would shatter the illusion and leave him standing alone in a hallway with only Richie for company; as if moving would put Eddie, Stan, and Georgie back into the ground. This was...impossible, it couldn't be real.

"Billy?" The six year old spun around with a questioning look, eyes lighting up, and then he was running forward and being swept into his big brother's arms. Bill may have been a lot bigger now than what Georgie remembered, but he didn't mind at all.

"Billy!! Billy, you're here! I missed you _so_ much! Like, like this much!" He flung his arms out as wide as they would go to visually show just how much he had missed Bill. 

Bill sobbed in relief, as though a piece of his soul that had been torn out that summer twenty seven years ago had been suddenly and abruptly returned to him. He pressed a shaky kiss to Georgie's hairline, shaking and trembling and thanking every deity he could think of for giving him his brother back, his hand cupping the back of his little brother's head as he scooped him up. "Oh, oh Georgie, o-oh my God I muh-missed you, t-too!"

Georgie grinned a gap toothed grin that faltered slightly as he saw the tears on Bill's face, reaching up to wipe one away cautiously. His small face grew somber in an instant, concern evident on his features. "Bill...? Please don't cry..."

Bill smiled widely through his tears and looked his little brother in the face. "I-I...sorry, I just. I'm fine. I'm juh-just....so, _s-so_ glad you're here."

Georgie smiled, contented with that answer. "Oh, that was Stanny! He found me when I got lost in the drains. Then I found Eddie, and Richie found all of us!"

Upon hearing his name, Bill blinked, startled, and turning his head to look at Stan. Georgie took this opportunity to wriggle out of Bill's hold while his attention was elsewhere. The man _(Stan the Man)_ was rubbing the back of his head awkwardly, and was looking remarkably well put together considering he had spent the last day and a half wandering through the sewers. It was only his shoes and lower pant legs that were stained at all.

It was really Stan...his first _real_ friend.

Bill could remember being on the playground in kindergarten, his very first day. He had been so nervous and scared that he wouldn't make any friends that his stutter had intensified to the point where even the simplest words seemed impossible. Of course that only made his task harder. Nobody wanted to be friends with the 'Mushmouth', as a scruffy boy from the third grade class named Henry had called him before pushing him into the dirt. Bill's eyes swam behind a sheen of hot tears before he had slunk off to the swingset, wallowing in self hatred and misery.

He had no friends.

It was a very cold realization for a boy of only five, and he began to cry harder.

"......d'ya want a push?" asked a small voice from behind him. Bill spun around, startled, and to his embarrassment, still crying. His eyes widened at the sight of the well dressed angel before him.

The boy was small, wearing a pale blue button up shirt and nicely ironed slacks, and he looked so clean cut and neatly put together that Bill felt self conscious of his own dirtied jeans, the knees now hopelessly stained with mud. He had a pale face and pursed lips, arms coming up to cross over his chest as he waited for a response.

"What? You don't want a Jew touching you?" he asked hesitantly, looking somewhat upset. "I'm not dirty, promise." It was clear that someone had said something negative to him as well that day.

Bill blinked in confusion, coming up to regard the other little boy with a puzzled look. Perched on top of a head of curls was a flat little hat of some kind that Bill was unfamiliar with.

"Wh-whuh-what's a Juh-Jew?" He stuttered out in genuine confusion, his small hands clinging tightly to the chains of the swing.

The boy scrunched up his nose for a minute as if not actually expecting anyone to ask him that. He started to talk, hesitated, and fell silent. Finally he settled for pointing to himself. "Me. That's what a Jew is."

Bill blinked at the realization that the boy hadn't made fun of his stutter, hadn't even looked impatient while he fought to get his words out. He just waited patiently for him to finish speaking. If this was what it meant to be a Jew, then Bill wanted to be friends with all of them.

Bill gave a small little grin, his eyes alight with happiness. "Y-You seem nuh-nice to m-me. C-Can I have a puh-push, please, uh...?"

The boy blinked, seeming surprised, before smiling and giving him a mighty heave with all the strength his small body had to offer, sending Bill skyward with a giggle. "I'm Stanley."

"H-Hi, St-Stanley. I'm Buh-Bill."

The two had no way of knowing at the time that they would be joined at the hip for the better part of the next decade.

And as he looked into the aged face of that same boy, all those memories came rushing back to him in an instant. It was just like coming back to Derry again, with all of his lost memories coming rushing back at all once.

He remembered.

Every inside joke, every night spent doing homework and joking around, flinging paper airplanes around the room and whispering into the phone when their parents didn't know they were still awake. And with those forgotten memories came long buried feelings of masked affection and stolen kisses that were more than just a joke and they both knew it. He remembered a choked out confession one night that Stan thought something was wrong with him for not liking girls like he was supposed to. He remembered hugging him tightly and saying that maybe something was wrong with him, too. He remembered the relief on Stan's face that had been mirrored on his own, to not be the only one.

The very sight of Stan alive and _well_ was giving Bill such an intense feeling of total relief that he couldn't stop himself from doing what he did next.

He stepped forward and pulled Stan into a quick, but bruising kiss.

He heard Eddie gasp, Richie give a low whistle, and Georgie complain about someone covering his eyes (probably Eddie).

He felt Stan's whole body go rigid for an instant and pulled away, face red and apologetic. The accountant's face was carefully blank, looking anywhere but Bill's eyes. Bill's eyes widened in horror at his own actions, recoiling and stepping back to give him space.

"Suh-Sorry, Stan, I just-"

"N-No, it's okay, uh. I...um."

"-totally overst-stepped, I wuh-was out of l-line-"

"Bill, really, it's okay. I, erm...I missed you, too."

Eddie and Richie shared glances as Bill and Stan both slowly fell silent, both of them flushing a deep red. Eddie had to admit he had never seen Stan look so shocked and off kilter as he did in that moment. 

Stan glanced over at Bill as if communicating nonverbally. They just needed to pretend that kiss had never happened and everything would go back to normal...

"Damn, Bill, get some!" Richie crowed cheerfully as he gave them a thumbs up, completely ruining any chance of Bill or Stan ever forgetting this moment.

Stan scowled at Bill, crossing his arms after giving Richie a look. "I hate you so much for doing that with him right there."

Bill laughed out loud, feeling as though all the stars in the universe had aligned all at once to create the best day of his life, where three people he loved to the moon and back had been somehow, inexplicably brought back to life. He swept Georgie into his arms and cuddled him close, the smaller of the two giggling happily. "Yeah, I know, you told me before."

"Just reminding you. The hatred is real."

Richie grinned. "The hatred, huh? Coulda fooled me, what with you letting Big Bill lay one on ya right in the middle of the hallway! If that's what you let someone you 'hate' do to you, I don't even wanna know all the kinky shit you'd let someone you _love_ do to you! I bet there're whips, aren't there? C'mon, Stan the Man, you can tell me." 

Stan narrowed his eyes and looked back to Bill. "Intensifying by the minute."

Eddie rolled his eyes while Bill flushed red in embarrassment and shrugged helplessly, even as Georgie pointed at his reddening cheeks with a mirth filled laugh.


	13. Breakdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill, Richie, Eddie, Stan, and Georgie sit down to have a brief talk about what exactly happened down in the sewers. Eddie has a bit of a breakdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh you guys, you just blew me away with the response on the last chapter! My heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you and I hope that you'll all enjoy what's to come!

Richie hummed in thought, looking from Eddie to Stan and finally to Georgie, who was munching on a bag of Funions that Bill had bought him from the vending machine. 

"I think we need to take them out of here. Get 'em to Mike's place and clean them up, and let them rest up before we tell the others." he said finally, giving Bill a serious look.

Bill blinked and shot him a sideways glance of confusion. "What d-do you muh-mean, Richie...? Mike, Buh-Ben and Bev d-deserve to know..."

The comedian frowned as he watched Eddie and Stan sitting on either side of Georgie, the former inspecting the back of the bag of Funions carefully and complaining hotly about the sodium content while the latter smirked and stole one from the bag for himself.

"I know that, Bill, Jesus, of course they do, it's just....it's almost too good to be true, you know? We kill Pennywise, and suddenly, everything is just...okay?" he asked somewhat skeptically. "I'm just...waiting for the other shoe to drop, I guess. It's just...weird. I don't think we could handle losing them a second time."

Bill frowned at his own thoughts being voiced and turned back to their resurrected friends. "H-how do you mean?"

Richie stuck his hands in his pockets and looked to the side. "I just...something's up. I...I did that Voice of Eddie, and...well, I sort of. Had a...oh my God this sound so fucking _stupid_...I had some kind of vision, okay?"

Bill blinked but didn't laugh. "Ruh-Richie, my six year old buh-brother that was m-murdered by an alien space clown is suh-sitting at a table with t-t-two of our closest fuh-friends, who were both d-dead two days ago. You duh-didn't think I'd believe yuh-you about having a vuh-vision? It almost suh-seems normal by comp-puh-parison."

Richie couldn't help breaking into a small grin. "Well, when you put it like _that..."_

Stan glanced over in their direction, having overheard their conversation and frowned. "Richie, what are you talking about?"

Bill looked momentarily sheepish. "Ruh-Richie...he had a vuh-vih-vision of...Edd-die in the s-sewers. I-I thought he wuh-was making a bad juh-joke, so I...I yelled at him..." He pointedly found his shoes very interesting to look at, shame evident on his face. "I'm suh-sorry, Richie. That wuh-wasn't fair t-to you."

Richie grinned in response. "Hey, at least you didn't punch me in the face this time." he teased. "Besides, my Eddie impression was on point and you know it."

Eddie's head perked up as if hearing himself being discussed and joined them at the table, Georgie following with his hand stuffed in the bag of Funions. "Richie, what do you mean? I've heard you try to mimic me, it's borderline offensive." Eddie stated flatly, even as his free hand gently smoothed down Georgie's hair. Bill reached out to pull the boy up onto his knee once Eddie was finished, unable to stop himself from keeping his long lost baby brother close to him.

"N-Nuh-No, Eddie, this wasn't l-like that. Thuh-This was...d-downright eerie. It sound _juh-just_ like you. He said...sh-shoot, I don't remember it all...suh-something about not being muh-mad, and..."

Stan's eyes had grown very wide and Eddie abruptly went silent, biting his lip and looking pale. 

Bill noticed the change immediately, worry slipping into his tone. "Wh-What is it...?"

Eddie fiddled with the cast on his right arm and deliberately didn't meet their eyes. "I don't...um. Something...something weird happened, in the sewers. Before Richie found us."

Georgie piped up excitedly, mouth half full of unchewed Funions. "Eddie h'd some k'nda fit 'r somethin'!"

Bill blinked and shook his head. "Whuh-what? Juh-Georgie, don't talk w-with your mouth fuh-full, please."

Georgie smacked his lips together and made a big show of swallowing the food, before speaking up again. "It was super weird, Billy! He like, started yelling stuff about big babies and that he wasn't effing mad at you, um...and to 'get your sh-stuff together and take care of Bill, darn it, cuz he needs you right now!' Then his eyes rolled back like this-" Georgie made his eyes roll around in his head and Bill had to glance away for a moment out of discomfort, "An' he just kinda fell over, an' didn't move at all! I thought he was dead!"

Richie listened to this impassioned tale with an unnatural seriousness, his free arm reaching over Eddie's shoulder to tug the shorter man into his side protectively. As he did so, his eyes remained fixed on Georgie, as if not even noticing he had moved at all. Eddie fidgeted for a short while, his mind obviously elsewhere, but didn't pull away.

Bill swallowed a strange lump in his throat. "Th-that's exactly what Richie said in the cuh-car, when he did his Eddie impreh-hesion. Thuh-then what happened, Juh-Georgie?"

The six year old hopped around impatiently in his seat. "I started yellin' for Stanny to come back, he went to go lookit th' monster. Told us to stay an' hide because he asked to die an' we didn't."

Bill's eyes widened at this news and he shot a look of disbelief at Stan, the man in question pointedly avoiding his gaze. "You d-did _what?"_

Stan spoke cooly in the direction of the floor. "It's true. Their deaths weren't intentional. Pennywise killed them, they didn't ask to...to die. I...I killed _myself,_ so it made logical sense for me to go check out the body. If It was still alive, somehow..."

Bill sighed heavily, his face anguished as he pressed his palms together and breathed into his interlaced fingers. "We're gonna tuh-talk about this later, Stan. Juh-Georgie? Tell us wh-what happened next..?"

Georgie grinned, looking thrilled to have regained the center of attention. "Eddie just kinda laid there for a minute, his eyes were open but they looked like that one time we went fishin' out on the lake with Dad? Y'know, the way the fishies' eyes looked after we caught 'em? I tried shakin' 'im but he didn't do anything!"

Eddie spoke up, shaking his head. "I...I don't remember much. Just crouching in a tunnel with George, and then I felt sort of...weird."

Richie frowned, glancing at the man at his side with worry on his features. "Weird how?" He couldn't shake the feeling that Eddie's...'fit' as Georgie called it, was somehow his fault.

The man seemed jittery, kept reaching to his side only to find nothing, and then simply clenching onto his pant leg. "I, um. Felt like I was seeing things from above, for a minute. Like I was floating or something. And then I just felt so...so _tired,_ and the next thing I remember was Stan shaking me, snapping his fingers in front of my face to try and wake me _up-!"_ His words had picked up in speed as he talked and his hands were shaking slightly, seeming to be searching for any patch of clothing he was wearing that wasn't filthy. He got to his feet suddenly, wriggling out from under Richie almost violently. "I-I have to get out of these fucking clothes, I-I need to clean up, I-I'm a mess, I'm _dirty,_ I just-"

Richie got up as well, glancing down at Bill, Stan, and Georgie before back to Eddie with concern. "Hey, hey, Spaghetti Man, it's alright, there are showers here for the hospital visitors, I bet they'd let you use one, and I've got spare clothes in the car-"

Eddie hitched in a panicked breath, eyes wild as he looked up at Richie. _"P-Public-!?_ Oh God, oh fuck, wh-when do you think they cleaned those last-!?"

Bill swore lightly as he stood as well, Stan and Georgie right behind him. It was clear Eddie had been trying to be strong for entirely too long, and now those walls were coming down hard.

"Ruh-Richie, Ben and Bev tuh-took your car b-back to the huh-hotel. It's nuh-not here."

Richie's eyes widened and he gave a low curse. "Damn it. Okay, Eds, new plan, let's getcha back to Casa del Mike and you can take a shower there. Mike's house is clean, _he's_ clean, you know that, right?"

Eddie was taking rapid breaths now but he gave a shaky nod. "Y-Yeah, th-that sounds...yeah..."

Richie patted him on the shoulder, hesitating slightly when Eddie ducked away from his hand with a hitched breath. "Good, uh. Good deal, Eds. C'mon, let's get you guys out of here. You could all use a shower, some food, and a lot of sleep." He looked pointedly at Stan. "And don't think I forgot about you yakking up everything you ate at McDonald's either, mister. You're going to eat something else while we're there."

Stan rolled his eyes but didn't protest.

Georgie's eyes lit up. "Can I have more Funions!?" 

Bill ruffled his hair. "H-how about w-we see what Mike's got for supplies and I cuh-cook you some _ruh-real_ food?"

The six year old cringed and made an exaggerated face of disgust. "I dunno, Billy, last time you cooked it was _bad."_

Bill blinked and for a moment it was like he was back at the dinner table thirty one years ago, when he had been nine years old and determined that he could cook dinner for once. He settled on hamburgers but the meat was raw on the inside and burnt on the outside. Zack Denbrough had choked it down with exaggerated praise, and his mother had smiled warmly even as bite after bite was slipped to the dog under the table. Georgie was small, then, only two and a half, and he kept pitching his plate over the side of the high chair in disgust.

Bill came back to reality with a small smile and tears in his eyes. "I've gotten better since then. Lots of practice."

Georgie reached up to cling to his hand. "Okaaaay." he said in obvious disbelief. "But if it's icky I ain't gonna touch it."

Bill smiled softly. "That's fine, Georgie. That's fine."

Stan glanced over at the pair with a small smile.

For just the briefest of moments, Bill hadn't stuttered at all.


	14. You Got Me In Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie thinks back on his life and what eventually led him back to Derry, and confronts some personal truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter gets a little intense. Trigger warnings for references to past and current emotional and verbal abuse, manipulation, unhealthy relationships, internalized homophobia, and homophobic language by Eddie directed at himself. Read with caution and please enjoy despite the difficult subject matter.

Eddie took in a low shuddery breath as Richie flagged down a taxi, settling inside stiffly with some discomfort. Bill had insisted they wouldn't all fit, and he wanted Georgie to be safe, so the three of them decided to get their own lift. 

His chest felt tight and he was miserable, biting his lip and trying to appear fine, as if expecting the taxi driver to suddenly notice the blood and sewage he was stained with. It had been years since someone had driven him anywhere, and it felt almost like being back at his mother's house. He hated relinquishing control, he wanted to feel like he was in charge of something, could handle something himself.

Eddie _loved_ driving.

Sonia had forbidden him from getting his license while he lived with her (and later on when he lived with her and his aunts) but when he turned 19 and finally had enough of her smothering, _(not to mention what she had Done)_ he had stormed out with nothing but his meager belongings and thirty five dollars.

He took that money and went to the DMV, and walked out with a driver's license. 

The only problem was he didn't have a car, or a place to stay.

Luckily enough, one of his old schoolmates solved those problems for him. Lonnie had lost his license after too many drunk driving dilemmas, so he paid Eddie twenty five dollars a week to drive him in his old green Pinto to his college classes at Indiana State. He offered him the couch in his dingy apartment, which Eddie was mildly disgusted by, but he was in no position to say no.

Soon, Eddie was paying _Lonnie_ to use his Pinto while he was in classes to shuttle other kids around the oversized campus. He gained a reputation for always being able to get you to class on time, no matter how late you were or how how many shortcuts he had to make. 

Almost before he knew it, Eddie had a sizable chunk of change to his name and he was able to afford his own car, right around the time Lonnie dropped out.

Soon after that, he moved out, having finally gotten fed up with Lonnie's constant comments about him being _'some sort of fag',_ plus after awhile he started noticing some of his money was missing here and there. Eddie was able to pay the rent for a very small (but more importantly, clean) apartment on the edge of town. He kept shuttling kids around until the campus finally realized how much money they were missing out on and started their own professional shuttle.

From there, Eddie was approached by a rich man named William Richards, some sort of businessman in Indianapolis. He wanted to hire a professional driver and it turned out his son was one of the kids Eddie used to take to classes every day. (He pointedly didn't mention the way the man's son was usually hungover and reeked of pot.) Mr. Richards was a large, booming man with a ridiculously oversized mustache and a scathing distaste of anything that didn't make him richer. Not to mention he was rude and rather cruel at times, making the occasional snippy comment about Eddie's less than impressive wardrobe and run down car. Luckily for Eddie, Mr. Richards provided his own, a dark blue Lincoln Continental that was the most beautiful car Eddie had ever laid eyes on. 

Even with the man's gruff exterior and thinly veiled insults, Eddie was happier than he had been living with his mother.

Over the course of a year, Eddie went from a broke homeless kid with only thirty five dollars to his name to a man of only twenty, professionally driving a man who made six figures a year to work every day.

He wouldn't make the connection until after returning to Derry several decades later, but he only agreed to the job because of the familiarity of the man's name. It made him vaguely remember a stutter and thick coke bottle glasses. 

Six years later, Mr. Richards died of a heart attack unexpectedly, and Eddie was terrified of what this meant for him. Not a lot of wealthy businessmen would hire someone as young as him with only one real reference.

Two weeks after that, Eddie received a letter in the mail that made his eyes widen and him frantically puff on his inhaler in disbelief. 

It was from Mr. Richards' banker, and contained a check so large that Eddie initially thought he must have misread the amount. Inside the envelope were the keys to the Lincoln Continental and a note explaining that Mr. Richards had told his son that if his grades didn't pick up he was leaving his share of the family fortune to their driver.

His son hadn't believed him.

Eddie had laughed so hard that he cried, sliding down the wall with the keys to the nicest car he'd ever seen in one hand and a check that would keep him living comfortably for the next ten years in the other.

Everything was going to be okay.

He moved out of the tiny apartment the next week, went to Brooklyn, and started his own chauffeuring business. 

Everything was good.

Until one day when the passenger who slid into his car was Sonia Kaspbrak.

Eddie froze like a statue and for an instant it was like he was thirteen again, knowing there was no way she could have just so happened to be in Brooklyn. She had to have been looking for him. 

He may have been a man of twenty six years of age but she still scared him to death. Her voice was just as sharp and simpering as it had been that day seven years ago when he had stormed out of the house.

"Eddie Bear, won't you just stop this nonsense and come home?"

A part of him felt cowed and wanted to just listen, just so he wouldn't have to be a part of the argument and the eventual tears. A larger part was furious that she still thought she could control him like she had when he was a child, so easily manipulated with soft words and lies he swallowed as easily as a pill. "I....no, Ma. I'm not going back with you." His voice only trembled a little and Eddie was proud of that. 

Her voice dropped dangerously low, incredulity on her heavily made up features. She clenched the leather seat hard, her long nails pressing into it like she hoped it would hurt him. "No..? _No?!_ What's gotten into you, Eddie Bear!? I'm still your mother and you are still my son! You have to listen to what I say!" she cried.

Eddie clenched the steering wheel tightly in both hands. "No, Ma. Not anymore. Now get out of my car." he stated coldly, looking back at her from the rear view mirror. His brown eyes were icy and firm, and Sonia was taken aback for an instant. This was not the boy who had rushed out of her house in tears that night seven years prior, clutching a box and trying to puff off his inhaler as he left. 

This wasn't her Eddie Bear.

She kept trying to convince him to return to her in vain for years after that. Sometimes with phone calls where she alternated sobbing into the receiver or using the same harsh tone she had used back when he was a boy, and sometimes with letters written with a cold, threatening and detached tone.

Nothing worked....up until the day that she died.

She had informed her sisters beforehand that her funeral _would_ be held in the same small town she had dragged Eddie to when they left Derry, determined to bring him back 'home' even if it took her literal death to do it. The announcement of her passing came three days after Christmas, with a note from his favorite Aunt Norrie that his mother would have wanted him there.

And God help him, Eddie went. 

At the funeral he was a mess, alternating between sobbing over the loss of his mother that he still loved even after everything, and being silent with rage, furious that she had tricked him into coming back again.

At the funeral, he met Myra. 

She was a soft spoken heavier girl that had apparently met Sonia at a church event the year prior. She seemed sweet, and understanding. Myra listened when he talked and offered advice without judgement, and he felt a small wave of gratitude towards her for that.

She had explained she was looking to start a new life somewhere and asked if she could come back to Brooklyn with him to search for an apartment. He hadn't felt totally comfortable with it but before he knew it she was in his car with all her things, smiling and simpering at him. Eddie blinked at her and saw his mother, but chalked it up to a trick of the light mixed with his grief from losing Sonia. 

He had felt the oddest sense of dejavu on the ride back as she asked about his inhaler and chided him for not using it more due to him _'obviously needing it'._

Eddie only kept it for the occasional anxiety attack and used it perhaps once or twice a month if he got stressed out.

Upon meeting Myra he found himself using it once or twice a week, then once or twice a day.

Soon it was always in his jacket pocket, close by if he needed it.

He needed it more often than he'd prefer.

Myra started to stop by his house nearly twice a week, bringing homemade dinners and advice on how to give the home _'a much needed woman's touch.'_

"After all, Eddie, dear, you don't want people to think you're some kind of queer, do you, always coming home to no wife or girlfriend? You wouldn't want people to think of you as a homo, right? Of course you don't."

He swallowed the lump in his throat and echoed her words back to her softly, a tiny touch of dread wriggling its way into his heart. "Of...of course I don't."

His chest felt tight. He wanted his inhaler.

Myra moved in three weeks after that.

It wasn't all bad. Despite his initial misgivings, he did love her. She cooked for him, cleaned the place spotlessly up to even his high standards, and sometimes even helped cover shifts for the business if they were short on a driver or two.

She brought him home medicine from the pharmacy, each plain white bag with thin labels on them seeming sinister from their place on the counter.

Next to the bags was a sticky note bearing the words, "Feel better soon, Eddie Bear! <3 XOXO -Myra"

If he didn't take them she would cry, and Eddie _hated_ seeing her cry.

He swallowed the pills obediently, his self hatred only increasing with each one.

Yes, Eddie loved her, but he wasn't _in_ love with her.

In a fit of bravery during an argument he tried to explain that to her and Myra had gone _ballistic,_ sobbing and wailing that he had led her on, uprooted her from her home and dragged her out to Brooklyn and then didn't even have the decency to marry her after everything she had given up for him. He had caught her hands, pressed a small kiss to her knuckles and begged her to stop crying, feeling less than worthless. She tried to hit him weakly in the chest and Eddie let her.

He deflated under the weight of her words and her tears, just like he always had with Sonia.

They were married within the year.

Myra adored her wedding ring, kept it polished and sparkling so she could flash it at anyone who looked even remotely interested.

Eddie's wedding band was a size too small and felt like a vice, clamping down on his finger. He didn't like to wear it because it was uncomfortable and felt too heavy but Myra would cry anytime she saw him without it. 

So he slipped it on with a slight wince and said nothing.

Eddie had never felt more trapped.

Coming back to Derry had brought with it several terrible things, but the best part was being away from Myra. He felt a small wave of self loathing for that, after all, what kind of husband didn't want to go home to his wife? But there was something about being back with his old friends that just made him feel alive.

Ironic really, considering what else had happened during his stay in Derry. 

With his friends, he felt powerful. Like what he said mattered. Richie especially _listened_ when he spoke and never made comments about him being wrong or tried to insist he was sick whenever he disagreed with him. Instead, he would just grin and ruffle his hair and say something like, "Whatever you say, Eddie Spaghetti."

He flushed red at the memory of Richie pressing kisses all over his face back in the sewers when they had been rescued, remembered how tightly he had clung to the shorter man, as if he was going to disappear if he let go.

And those comments about showing him how happy he was to see him later? What did _that_ mean? Was he just joking again? He must have been.

Eddie sighed and wondered why he felt so upset by that. He wasn't...he wasn't some kind of _queer, _he didn't...he shouldn't think about other men that way! He was _married,_ for Christ's sakes!__

____

____

But still.... 

Eddie couldn't help but glance over at Richie in the cab. _(He was his best friend and he hadn't seen him in years it was just natural curiosity to see how much he's changed honest really it's true he wasn't queer Myra, Mother, please-!)_ He watched the other man fiddle with the knob to roll down the window before huffing and blowing strands of black hair out of his face. He caught Eddie staring out of the corner of his eyes and grinned, reaching over to squeeze Eddie's hand. "You feeling okay right now, Eds?"

Eddie was thrown off by this question momentarily. Was he... _feeling_ okay? Didn't Richie realize it didn't work like that? Eddie didn't get to decide if he was okay or not. That was his moth- _Myra's_ job to diagnose. Instead of answering he gave a small, bewildered smile and a shrug.

"I just...I'd like to get clean..." he murmured, suddenly feeling very fragile. It wasn't even worth the effort to complain about the nickname. He hadn't realized just how tired he was until getting into the taxi, his stomach gurgling softly with hunger and his head lolling back against the seat.

Richie grinned and ran a hand through his own hair, messing up the already wild black locks and grinning. "You wanna take a little snooze until we get there? I can wake you up when we get to Mike's place." 

Eddie smiled but it was slightly hollow. "It's only a little longer. Besides, I might end up passing out on your shoulder or something." 

Richie blinked, tilting his head to the side in genuine confusion. "What's wrong with that?" he asked curiously. "We used to share the same bed all the time as kids."

Eddie blinked over at him, unsure of if he was joking or not. "Y-Yeah, when we were _kids,_ maybe that was okay. But not anymore! That's just...w-we can't do that, Richie. I'm married. To a _woman."_ He stressed, wondering why Richie was giving him such a strange pitying look. "What are you staring at me like that for?"

Richie, for once, seemed at a loss. "I...who the hell told you that it's not okay to fall asleep on a friend? I promise the bisexuality isn't catching." he teased slightly but there was a definite hurt undertone to it.

Eddie's eyes widened, he didn't want Richie to feel like he was disgusted by him or anything, because he _wasn't._ Eddie had no problem with homosexuality of any kind, he just...he wasn't...he couldn't be.... He was just confused right now. 

"N-No, Richie, that's not what I...I don't... I'm sorry."

Richie shook his head somewhat sadly and pulled his hand back. "It's okay, Eddie. I get the picture." And damn it all, the soft comforting tone of his voice just makes the shorter man feel worse.

Eddie and Richie finished the ride in silence, the former desperately wishing he had his inhaler and also missing the warmth of Richie's hand, the voices of Sonia, Lonnie, and Myra demanding, _"You're not some kind of fag, are you?"_ dancing in his head.


	15. Summer Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan has a theory for Eddie's odd behavior towards Richie and it isn't good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry in advance that this chapter is a little short. I had to do five 12 hour shifts this week so I didn't have a lot of time to spare. Tomorrow's should be longer. :) Happy reading!

When Bill, Stan, and Georgie finally make it to Mike's house, Eddie and Richie have already arrived. 

Something is off between the two of them, something that makes Stan's eyes narrow in confusion even as he carried Georgie inside. The boy had fallen asleep quickly due to the gently movements of the car, and was essentially dead to the world right now. Richie was carefully keeping his distance from the shorter man, and Eddie kept shooting wistful glances in Richie's direction like all he wanted to do was close the gap. Something between them had changed and Stan didn't like change.

Eddie gave the three newest arrivals a shaky and thin smile, before he stepped into the bathroom. There was the sound of running water, a small whimper, and then just the sound of someone washing up.

Stan was inwardly glad Eddie didn't choose to take a bath.

Bill offered up a bag of Richie's spare clothes he had taken from the car, still parked outside the inn. "I left a n-note under the wiper for Buh-Ben and Bev to call M-Mike's house wuh-when they wake up...th-they need to know abuh-bout this."

Richie took the bag of clothes but frowned as he glanced in the bathroom's direction, setting them on the couch absentmindedly. "Thanks, Big Bill, but. Um. Do either you or Mike have some clothes Eddie could borrow instead? He might be more...comfortable than borrowing mine."

That sense of wrongness intensified and Stan shared a worried glance with Bill. "What do you mean, Richie? They'll be a little big on him but nothing too unreal." Stan stated, gently passing Georgie over to Bill, who laid him down on the couch and began tucking him in with a thick knitted afghan and a sort of quiet disbelief as he did so.

Richie looked over at the doorway again and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck a bit sheepishly. "Eddie's....I think he....he might be a little. Um. Homophobic."

Bill and Stan visibly recoiled, giving each other incredulous looks. Whatever they had been expecting to hear, it clearly hadn't been that.

"E-Eddie? Eddie _Kuh-Kaspbrak?_ _O-Our_ Eddie...!? Huh-homophobic?! Wuh-What do you m-mean?" Bill asked, understandably a bit shocked and somewhat skeptical.

Richie sighed wearily, his head in his hands and looking unsure what to say. "He...oh, jeez, guys, he's got it in his head that he can't touch me because I'm bisexual and straight people can't do that. He even said that the things we used to do as kids, share a bed, joke around, that we couldn't do that anymore because he was married. He even felt the need to stress specifically that it's a woman he's married to, like we all were going to assume it could be a man! I just..." he swallowed thickly and Stan realized in a sort of objective horror that Richie was on the verge of actual tears. "I just don't understand why...what changed? I remember he was the first one I came out to, the week before he moved away. He hugged me and said it was okay! He didn't act disgusted or anything at all, he was super understanding, so why _now...?!"_

Stan frowned seriously, crossing his arms over his chest. "When I was fifteen, Eddie found out I was bi. He looked kind of pale, and nervous about something, so I asked him in private what was wrong and...he said..."

_"Do you ever feel like, sometimes...Derry's just a big glass box? That we're all butterflies stuck on display, flapping like mad trying to get out? I feel like that sometimes, like some sort of dumb butterfly. Except I worry...I worry that if I ever I get **out** of the glass box, I'll end up someplace...worse, you know? I just...maybe it's better to just stay put._

Stan swallowed once. When Eddie had said that, it was like he wasn't even talking to him, more so to himself. "I thought he was just talking about how much of a shithole Derry was. Is. But now, I'm not so sure." 

Bill disappeared into Mike's bedroom and came back with his own duffel bag and a laundry basket of Mike's clean clothes. He stacked a pair each of Mike's pajamas, Richie's in the middle, and his own on top and walked over to the bathroom door to knock lightly.

"I-I buh-brought y-you some clothes, E-Eddie. Can I cuh-come in?"

There was a loud crashing noise as a bottle of something slipped and fell from the rack inside the shower before a panicked and startled voice called through the door. "N-no, just...just leave them outside the bathroom, please?"

Stan furrowed his brow and glanced over at Richie who still looked somewhat glum. 

Bill came back out to the living room, concern evident on his features. "He suh-sounded...so fuh-freaked out."

Stan was beginning to consider and idea and he didn't like it. "When Sonia packed Eddie up and left....he said... he said she was sending him to summer camp. He was a little excited about it because she never let him get away from her for longer than a day, and it was almost two weeks long."

Richie glanced up, looking decidedly unimpressed. "Yeah? So?"

Stan swallowed a small lump in his throat. "What if it wasn't a summer camp at all...? What if...."

Richie's eyes were wide as he stared over at Stan, sick realization dawning on his features. "No. _No!_ She...she couldn't have been _that_ fucking evil! No way! There is no goddamned way she had Eds shipped out to a fucking _conversion_ camp!" 

Stan swallowed around the lump in his throat and tried to keep his composure. "Listen, hey, stay calm, okay? If that's what happened, _which we don't know that it did..._ we've all got to be extremely gentle with him, he's probably been taught to fear any interaction with other men, sexually or otherwise...those places are _sick._ He probably came out more confused than when he went in..." 

Bill's eyes went wide as he looked from Richie to Stan. He didn't know really what they were talking about, as he had kept any sort of questioning of his sexuality to himself, hidden from his parents, and once he left Derry, left _Stan,_ there had been no other boys after him. Just three girls and then Audra. "Wuh-what's a cuh-conver-"

Before he could finish his sentence, Eddie walked back into the room, Bill's mouth slamming shut and Stan looking over to Georgie as if to hide their topic of conversation from the shorter man.

Richie stared directly at him in shock, because Eddie was wearing his pajamas. Not Mike's. Not Bill's. _His._

Eddie looked somewhat uncomfortable, fidgeting slightly and tugging at the collar of the worn and faded blue Freese's t-shirt and long black plaid flannel pajama pants, the ends of which had been rolled up three times so as to not drag on the floor. Despite his apparent discomfort he gave Richie a cautious and small smile, as if trying to apologize without using words.

The brightness of the grin Richie gave him in response could have lit up the Empire State Building.


	16. Trust Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben finds the note that Bill left on the car and rushes to Beverly's room. She reacts poorly to the news that her boys are alright. Ben is incredibly patient with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning guys, have chapter 16! I'm so thrilled, we're going to hit 500 kudos today! That's amazing and incredible and I'm getting flustered just thinking about it! You guys are awesome and I appreciate each and every one of you!!

Beverly woke up slowly, feeling surprisingly comfortable and well rested despite the horrors yesterday had brought them all. She yawned lightly and stretched out her sore shoulders before she wriggled out from under the covers and headed for the small kitchenette of her room. Bev kept her hands busy and distracted with fixing herself a hot pot of coffee, but her mind was racing a thousand miles a minute. 

Richie was still missing, the answering machine in her room proudly flashing, '0 New Messages' at her. She sighed and sat by the phone while the coffee brewed, the morning feeling absurdly normal considering they had all just fought and killed an ancient evil entity yesterday.

A wave of melancholy hit her as she realized that today Mike would be getting checked out of the hospital; under the condition that someone would be able to look after him for a couple of days to make sure he didn't do anything too strenuous. She phoned her secretary and made sure that Beverly By Hand was doing just fine without her for a couple more days, just in case. The last thing Bev wanted was for Mike to end up stuck in that damned hospital for the next few days over something as silly as work.

Bev was shaken out of her thoughts by a loud knocking at the door. She blinked, confused, and peeked through the peephole to find Ben standing there, his clothes mismatched and his overall appearance somewhat scruffy. A piece of paper was clenched in his hand and he seemed frantic, pacing outside the door restlessly. Beverly blinked in confusion before opening the door, not caring that she was still wearing her pajamas. This was one of Them, after all; Ben had seen her covered head to toe in blood and sewage before, he was hardly going to judge her for not wearing a bra at the moment. As soon as the door opened he started, reaching out to take her hand. His grip was still gentle despite his apparent mood.

"We...we have to get to Mike's house _right now, Bev."_

She shook her head for a second, not out of disagreement but just confusion. "What? Mike's still in the hospital, why do we need to go to his house?"

Ben grasped her shoulders tightly and looked into her eyes. His own were wide with an emotion she couldn't place. Excitement? Anticipation? 

"B-Bev, I just got off the phone with Bill, it's Eddie-"

Her fingers rose to her lips almost on their own as she gasped. "Richie found him? He got his...his body out of th-"

Ben shook his head and interrupted her, too excited to contain himself. That alone was a tip off on the current situation, Ben's own personal rule was to let someone finish talking before speaking up, out of courtesy. Whatever was going on, it was something big.

"Bev, listen. Eddie is _alive!_ So are Stan, a-and even Georgie! Richie found them all wandering in the sewer-" He was grinning now, looking as excited as a child on Christmas.

Bev tugged away, looking at him in a sort of pained disbelief. She pulled her hand from his hold and looked at him with a broken and hurt expression. Didn't he understand how much she had lost? Didn't he realize that two of the only men who had valued her for _her_ instead of just her appearance were _dead?_ "Why...why would you even joke about that, Ben...?" she asked in a shaky voice. Her heart ached and even thought she knew Ben was just trying to help make her feel better, he was going about it all wrong. "You...you know how much those boys meant to me. To _all of us."_

Ben faltered for a second, looking somewhat hurt. "You...you don't believe me...? But, I...I talked to Eddie, I heard him on the phone-" he whispered, hesitation evident in his features.

Bev's eyes pooled with tears and for an instant she was genuinely angry at her glasses clad friend. "It was _Richie,_ it had to be, he must have been playing some sort of...of messed up _prank!_ You heard his impression in the car, it was spot on!"

Ben hesitated, looking somewhat unsure. "I...I know it was him, Bev, really. I felt it. Don't you feel it? I...I woke up today feeling _whole_ again. I...I really, honestly think that they're alive!"

Beverly went to retort but froze as she realized something. Ever since she had found out Stan had killed himself, she had felt....empty. Like something important had been abruptly and swiftly cut out of her chest. With Eddie it was even worse, as she had stood by and watched him die, her hands trembling around the slingshot.

She had quickly crouched down beside him, hot wet blood _(Eddie's blood)_ staining the knees of her jeans. She had seen the light fade from his eyes, had squeezed his remaining hand while Richie clung to him and sobbed out that he would be alright. She had watched as blood spilled from between pale lips along with his last words. She had heard Richie dissolve into a frantic state of anguish as Eddie's head hit the floor of the tunnel, no longer strong enough to hold it up.

She had felt her heart break again when his grip on her hand loosened and his eyelids fell closed for the last time. 

Another Loser, gone for good.

But today when she woke up, it felt like...something had changed. Something was different.

"B-Ben...I... I want to believe it, I do, I _do,_ I'm just....I'm so scared to! What if we...what if we get there and it's all just a lie?" Her green eyes scanned Ben's for any hint of him being in on the joke and relaxed when she found only honesty and trustworthiness behind his hazel orbs.

He sighed and squeezed her hands tightly in his larger ones. "Bev, I promise you, I don't think this is a joke. Maybe Richie would do something like this out of a sense of...grief or trying to cheer us up in a convoluted way if he was upset enough, but Bill? No way. He knows what it's like to lose someone you love with your whole heart better than any of us. He would _never."_

And now the excitement was rising in her own chest, hope unfurling like a banner as she let a shaky grin inch its way onto her features. "W-We need to get Mike first. The nurses said he could leave first thing this morning-"

Ben nodded. "Absolutely. We do this together, as a family. But, um. Maybe you'd like to get dressed first?" he asked timidly, seeming to realize in that instant just how little she was wearing. Bev blinked and looked down at herself; clad in a thin cotton nightie and a pair of soft shorts. 

"Gimme five minutes." she said with a small grin and closed the door. In only two minutes she was out, having merely slid on sweatpants and a bra under her shirt. She throws on a coat and links her arm with his, seeming oblivious to the way his face went bright red as she did so. "Okay, let's go!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Benthony, Beaverly, and Micycle meet up with their missing Losers.


	17. In Sheep's Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beverly and Ben get Mike out of the hospital and rush him home to reunite with their missing Losers. Mike is suspicious that something isn't right with Eddie.

Mike felt drained, physically and emotionally. The stab wound was healing well, and somehow had missed anything vital due to the fact that the blade had been worn with age. It had only penetrated about three inches, but he had lost quite a bit of blood. Once the injury had been stitched up and the doctors had kept him overnight for an evaluation, they conceded that he could go home and recuperate there. Librarians just didn't make enough money to spend a week or more in the hospital.

His thoughts drifted to Pennywise as they always seemed to when he was alone, and the news that It was gone for good. He sighed wearily and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, wishing the cost hadn't been so damned high.

He remembered just the night before, how scared Eddie had been in the inn's lounge, biting his lip and speaking up that maybe...maybe they shouldn't go into the sewer. 

Bill had been determined, and Mike remained quiet. He didn't want to talk Eddie out of it because he knew that they needed them all there, even with Stan gone.

His eyes stung with unshed tears at the thought that if he would have just been a little more understanding, told Eddie it was okay, that he didn't have to go, he would still be _alive right now,_ instead of rotting in a cold, filthy sewer.

His hand twitched and he ached for his journal and pen, wanting to try and document his feelings and just get them _out of his head._

Maybe Eddie would have waited with Mike in the hospital, looking nervous and jittery and making halfhearted attempts to keep each other calm while their closest friends battled Pennywise several feet below their shoes. 

Maybe things would have been okay.

 _'And maybe it would have been someone else's corpse left behind instead of his.'_ he thought coldly, shivering at the thought. Losing Eddie was hard enough, but to torture himself with thoughts of Bill, Bev, Richie, or Ben in his place? Sometimes he hated having such a vivid imagination.

He didn't want to lose any of them, not ever. Perhaps that made him selfish, but he just wished more than anything that things could have been different. Maybe it made him childish, but Mike had always hoped somehow that all the Losers coming back would be a strong enough force to kill It and let them all walk out alive. He had thought that when they were together, they were invincible.

Stan and Eddie were a testament to the fact that they were clearly _not._

He took in a shuddery breath and clamped down on it, refusing to cry anymore. Mike knew he had already had his time to mourn. He spent half the night shedding tears for two of the kindest boys he had ever met being slain, and now he just wanted to work on healing from it.

He could hear a commotion down the hallway and frowned, looking up with a bit of confusion. Finally, a nurse stepped into the room, a razzled looking Ben and Beverly behind her. 

Beverly grinned and the light actually made it to her eyes. "Good morning, Mike! We're here to spring you!"

Mike let the ghost of a smile inch onto his face although his heart wasn't in it. "Morning, Bev, Ben. How did you sleep?"

Ben grimaced slightly. "Um. I...I tried for a few hours but chalked it up to a bad job at around two am. Spent the rest of the morning sketching out some new blueprints for when I get back to work." 

Beverly looked slightly guilty as she spoke. "I actually slept like a rock. I don't know how, what with everything that happened yesterday..."

The nurse handed him some paperwork to fill out and instructed Beverly and Ben to _'treat him like he's made of glass for a few days, Mr. Hanlon was very lucky, but if he went back to table dancing too soon he was likely to tear open the wound again.'_

Mike rolled his eyes and shot a glance over at Ben, who had manufactured the cover story of him getting drunk, dancing on a table, and taking a fall to explain away the mysterious stab wound.  
He wondered idly if the police had found Henry Bower's body in his room yet and cringed, hoping he wouldn't be leaving the hospital only to enter police custody.

Within only a few short minutes, he was officially free to go. Ben held his forearm carefully to help him to the car, giving him a wry smile as Mike grinned. 

"I'm okay, Haystack, but thank you. Where are Bill and Richie...?" He asked softly, doing his best to put the two deceased Losers out of his mind. Dwelling on their deaths wouldn't help anyone right now. He needed to stay calm and do his best to move on.

Beverly and Ben traded a strange sort of look that made Mike frown slightly. "Is there something going on that I don't know about?" he asked finally, looking between them. 

Ben rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "We...we don't have a whole lot of information... and we didn't want to tell you, get your hopes up, and have our information be wrong..."

Mike furrowed his brow. "I...okay, fair enough, are Bill and Richie going to meet us back at the inn?"

Bev spoke up this time, opening the passenger seat of Richie's sleek red convertible to help him gingerly slide into the car. "Um, no, actually we're going to your house. Bill and Richie are there already."

Mike frowned in thought, trying to figure out what could possibly make them act this strangely. 

And then it hit him.

"I...It's Henry Bowers, isn't it? The cops found his body? We're in trouble aren't we?" He asked somewhat nervously. Beverly and Ben traded quick glances. 

"Er, no, actually...with everything that happened when we fought Pennywise...I hadn't even considered the cops finding his body." Ben admitted sheepishly. "Should we go back to the hotel?"

Bev shook her head firmly as she shut the passenger door and slid into the front seat. "No, we...we need to get to Mike's house first. After... _after,_ we'll deal with Bowers. Is that alright...?"

Ben didn't even question allowing Beverly to drive, and got into the front passenger seat to buckle up. "Yeah, I agree, what about you, Mike? Ready to go home?"

Mike chuckled softly and nodded, trying to appear stoic. "To be completely honest I didn't expect to ever see it again. Between Bowers' little knife hug and planning on going down to fight Pennywise, I didn't really...well, I had considered dying a serious possibility."

Beverly bit her lip but remained quiet, seeming unsure what to say to that.

The ride to Mike's house should have taken ten minutes but was closer to five, due to Bev skidding through stoplights and taking back roads to avoid traffic or possible cops. Mike frowned and wondered why they were in such a hurry. 

All too soon, they had arrived, and Ben and Beverly quickly helped to get Mike out of the car. He eyed the steps up to his front door somewhat dubiously, but Ben just smiled calmly. 

"I gotcha, Mike, don't worry."

Mike knew he was telling the truth. He would trust any of the Losers with his life, even if walking up the porch steps wasn't exactly a life or death situation.

Despite the fact that Beverly was visible nervous, wringing her hands and glancing at his house with some trepidation, both she and Ben were very careful and took their time assisting him up the stairs so that he didn't yank out any stitches.

Mike reached into his pocket for the house keys and fumbled them once as he heard a child's giggle screech from inside, followed by the sound of Bill laughing. Mike almost didn't recognize it, as it had been so long since he heard it.

He turned and regarded Beverly and Ben with a look of confusion. "Is there something to two want to tell me before we go inside?"

Beverly and Ben traded meaningful glances before Beverly blurted out, "The Turtle brought them all back!"

Mike blinked in confusion, trying to process this, before suddenly the door opened and Stan Uris blinked at him in surprise.

"I heard the key in the doo.... _Mike!?_ Is that you? Are you alright, I didn't know you were leaving the hospital this soon!"

Mike's eyes widened as he stared at Stan, hands trembling so hard the house keys slipped from his fingers. Stan made as if to pick them up, but before he could, Mike had thrown himself at him in a tight and bruising hug. 

"Y-You're not dead, you're okay...!"

Stan looked taken aback as he looked at the man and woman standing behind Mike and realized it was Ben and Beverly. They two looked stunned to see him, as though they hadn't even expected to see him either. He smiled weakly and that was all it took for Ben and Bev to rush into the group hug, the force of which nearly knocked them backwards into the foyer of the house.

"St-Stan, you're alive, you're...you're...! Oh thank God!" Beverly wept softly into his shoulder, squeezing him tightly. It was so different from the way his nightmare back in the tunnels had portrayed her voice, as a seductive purr laced with hatred. The real Beverly's voice was low and warm, slightly scratchy from tears and her last cigarette. Ben was almost unrecognizable to Stan, as he had dropped so much weight. It might also be due to the fact that Stan had never seen Ben cry before, not even when they fought It as children all those years ago.

Their welcoming embrace helped soothe the open wounds the nightmare and his own fears had left behind.

Something small ran into Mike's leg, and he looked down into the face of Georgie, smiling up at him with a tight grin. "Mikey! Mikey's here! I missed you!" His warm brown eyes darted to Ben and Beverly and he quickly amended his statement. "Benny! Bevvie! I missed you guys a lot too! The mostest!"

Beverly's eyes flooded with tears as she regarded Georgie with a brilliant smile. "G...Georgie...look at you-!" Due to the circumstances of his death, the youngest Denbrough had never actually met Beverly, Ben, or Mike in person before, but somehow he seemed to not only know who they were, but wanted to be their friend.

Bill came around the corner then, leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed and a huge grin on his face as he regarded the five of them. "Mike, you look great! I hope you're feeling better."

Mike smiled warmly at him with tears in his eyes. "I am, Bill. I'm feeling better than I have in a long time now." It was more true than even Bill could possibly know.

Richie stepped out of the bedroom and closed the door behind him softly. As he saw the new arrivals, he grinned. "What's up, fuckers?"

Stan elbowed him and glanced pointedly at Georgie, who had plugged his ears and was looking up at Richie curiously.

"Hey, Billy, how come I can't say those kinds of words like Richie?"

Bill gave Richie a severe look and quickly smiled down at Georgie. "Richie's an adult now, Georgie, so he can say whatever he wants. And he does. Frequently."

Georgie huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "How long until I'm an adult, too?"

Richie hummed, looking Georgie up and down and measuring him with his eyes. "Well, let's see, you're six now-"

"-almost seven! I'm six and a half, Richie!"

Richie smirked and kept talking as if he hadn't heard anything. "-so if you manage to grow three and a half more feet by the end of puberty, you'll be allowed to swear as much as you want to. But you gotta eat all your vegetables and drink your milk or you're gonna stay Eddie sized for the rest of your life."

Georgie looked heartbroken. "Eat my veggies? _All of 'em?!"_

At the same time a muffled voice through the bedroom door called, "Fuck off, Richie!", earning a loud hoot of laughter from the taller man.

Beverly, Ben, and Mike both looked hopefully in the direction of the bedroom. Richie smirked and pointed his thumb in the direction of the room. "He's still awake, you guys can go see him, make sure he's okay with your own peepers."

As if waiting for permission, the three of them bolted towards the door, opening it and trying not to look like they were rushing in.

Inside, curled up on the bed and looking rather exhausted was Eddie, looking happy to see them despite the bags under his eyes. "M-Mike, you're out! How are you feeling?"

Mike sat at the foot of the bed and took in a slow, even breath. He felt like he must be dreaming, he couldn't believe he was talking with Eddie Kaspbrak, who only yesterday had been slaughtered by Pennywise. His hands trembled as he longed to reach out and hug him, but Eddie seemed to be regarding both he and Ben with a sort of wary distance as they approached the bed for some odd reason and he didn't want to scare him worse. "...Honestly, I wasn't doing well at all until Stanley Uris answered my front door." he admitted. "I...I was... a total wreck. We all were, especially when the three B's came back from the sewers and told me that you weren't going to."

Eddie swallowed and looked somewhat sheepish, biting his lip and not meeting any of their eyes. "Sorry, Mike. I...I can't imagine what that was like. I didn't mean to-"

Ben sat at the foot of the bed as well, blinking curiously as Eddie scooted up his knees and shimmied back a little further. "Don't blame yourself, Eddie. It wasn't...you didn't... It was Pennywise. You were... _so brave,_ Eddie. You saved me, Bill, and Richie...."

Eddie gave a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I just...I didn't mean to make you guys upset. I wasn't thinking, maybe if I hadn't just rushed in, I wouldn't have gotten myself ki-"

Beverly gave a small sob and threw her arms around Eddie, tugging him close. "Don't you say that. Don't you even _think_ that what happened down there was your fault. It wasn't. It _wasn't,_ okay, Eddie?"

He bit his lip and slowly raised his arms up to embrace her. "Sorry. You're right, sometimes I just- never mind."

Mike frowned lightly in thought. Stan and Georgie were both acting like their old selves, but Eddie was...different. It was like he had an itch he couldn't scratch, a sort of odd skittishness that hadn't been there before. He seemed downright fearful of himself and Ben right now, something he hadn't exhibited as a child. What was going on with him...? "So is our working theory right now that the Turtle is responsible for this? For bringing you all back...?" He kept regarding Eddie for a moment before he stood up from the bed, noticing how instantly Eddie's defensive position relaxed a bit. How odd...

Ben frowned. "Will we ever know for sure...? I'm just glad they're back at all. I...It was hard losing any of you, but...I think seeing Eddie...um....it made it worse."

The smaller man nodded somewhat sheepishly. "I...I remember it, a little."

Three sets of eyes darted over to him. "Remember...? What do you mean, you remember?" Beverly asked softly, pressing a hand to Eddie's shoulder and giving a squeeze. 

Eddie's hand darted to his hip as if searching for a fanny pack he hadn't carried in years, before simply clutching at the baggy fabric of Richie's sweatpants. "I-I...dying. When It...killed me. I...I didn't go to heaven or the afterlife or anything. It was..." His face was growing markedly paler by the minute, eyes pooling with unshed tears, and Ben shot the other two an uneasy glance. 

"Maybe we shouldn't-"

Mike breathed in heavily through his nose. He had a feeling he knew where this was going, and any information the man could give them would help to explain how they had all returned. "The deadlights."

Eddie started, looking up at him and wiping his eyes quickly with the back of his hand. "Y...yeah. I was...I was in the deadlights, too. It was...warm, and I was floating, and I was... _happy."_

Mike swallowed, feeling slightly skeptical. He had the strangest urge that this wasn't right, that the Eddie who had died in the sewers was still down there and Richie had brought back an imposter. "Was Pennywise there with you? Or Stan, or Georgie? What else do you remember?" A large part of Mike was suspicious, wondering why it would be that Stan and Georgie seemed alright, but Eddie was acting so...bizarre. Could this be Pennywise, sneaking his way back to them and wearing Eddie's form as a disguise? 

Eddie's hands trembled on his knees and he turned his head stiffly away. "I....no. I don't even....I can't...it was _just_ Pennywise. We were _all_ just Pennywise. I wasn't even me...I didn't exist anymore. No sense of self, no sense of where It stopped and I began, we were...I think...." he buried his chin in his knees and mumbled, looking all of a sudden very small and very afraid. "I...I just-"

Ben stood up and pointedly glanced at Mike and Beverly. "Okay, I think Eddie's had enough of the third degree, Mike. Let's let him sleep, he's exhausted." 

Mike frowned but glanced over at Eddie for a moment. The man was curled up in a small ball, hands clenching in the sheets and looking like he desperately didn't want to think about the deadlights anymore. His breathing was picking up and sounded like he was close to a panic attack. Mike felt a small wave of shame rush over him for pressing the issue so insistently. "I...I'm sorry, Eddie. We'll let you rest now." 

Eddie swallowed and looked up somewhat sadly. "M...Mike, it's your bed, you're hurt, you should have it. I'll just..." he swung his legs over the bed and made as if to stand up.

Mike shook his head quickly. "No, no, it's okay, I've spent the past two nights in the hospital room, I've had plenty of rest for now. You use it. If I need to lie down I'll take the couch, or maybe I can take the other side later."

Eddie went paler and glanced away. "Y...yeah. Sure."

Beverly carefully pressed a small kiss to his forehead, ruffling his hair and smiling at him. "Good night, Eds...I'm so, _so_ happy you're back..!"

He gave her a tiny smile in return and settled back down on the bed.

As they filtered out and Ben closed the door, he pretended not to hear the faint sobs coming from the room they had just left.


	18. Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Richie aren't happy with Mike unwittingly dredging up bad memories for Eddie. Richie and Stan explain why.

"Something isn't right with Eddie." Mike said seriously as he turned to look at the others. Some time had passed since Ben, Beverly, and Mike had left the bedroom, and Stan and Georgie were now curled up on the couch, sleeping hard. Bill had stepped out for a minute to visit Audra and make sure she was all right. Around the kitchen table talking lowly were Mike, Richie, Ben, and Beverly.

Ben gave him a somewhat hard look. "Is that why you were giving him the old 'good cop, bad cop' routine back there? What the hell was that all about, Mike? You scared him!"

Richie's hands, which had been drumming along the table absentmindedly came to a halt. "What do you mean...? Mike? What did you do?" His tone was slightly frosty, as if nonverbally indicating that if he didn't like the answer Mike would've been in trouble.

The librarian frowned, clasping his hands together and finding his hands abruptly very fascinating. "I just wanted to find out why he was acting so jumpy."

Richie's eyes widened, leaning closer. "Did you...say something? Or touch him or anything?" His tone was hard, and he was regarding Mike with a very serious expression. 

He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Don't jump down my throat, Richie, I was just asking him a few questions. I'm trying to understand how...how they all came back to life? Not that I'm complaining but doesn't it seem a little too good to be true?"

Ben frowned, crossing his arms and giving Mike a small frown. "Is that why you made him talk about being in the deadlights?"

Richie's eyes widened and he stood, nearly knocking over his own chair. "You did _what?!"_ he demanded incredulously, his brown eyes furious.

Beverly reached up and tugged at his shirt. "Richie, hey, please sit back down, you're going to wake them up...."

He remained standing for a minute, glaring at Mike before he slowly settled back down in his seat. When he spoke again his volume was lower but the tone was just as furious. "After everything they've gone through these past few days, why the _fuck_ would you make him relive that?" His hands were clenched into fists. "And you chose to have this conversation by cornering him in your bedroom? With you and Ben and Beverly standing in the doorway and blocking the only exit? Were you _trying_ to scare him even more than he already is?!"

Mike frowned, looking confused but trying to stay civil anyways. He wasn't sure why Richie was so incensed but he didn't want to make things worse. "What do you mean, cornering him? You told us we could go in and see him."

Richie made as if to retort before he deflated, all the heat having seemed to have gone out of him suddenly. "I didn't even think about how he must have felt, being approached by two men he only vaguely remembers while he's laying on a bed...! I'm a fucking _idiot."_ He looked so guilty in that moment that Ben couldn't keep from reaching over to clap him on the shoulder.

Beverly looked from Mike to Richie to Ben before back to Richie, confusion and frustration evident on her features. "Will you both just knock it off and explain what exactly is going on with Eddie..?" she asked, green eyes darting between them. 

Richie looked at a loss for a moment before he sighed, his fingers drumming restlessly against the tabletop. "Eds, he....I think that...we aren't totally sure, but-"

Stan walked into the room looking somewhat rumpled, his hair slightly flat on one side and his expression unimpressed, a heavy afghan wrapped around him like a cloak. "Richie's not explaining this very well. We have reason to suspect that Sonia had Eddie shipped out to a conversion camp right after the Kaspbraks moved away, and the stress of being killed and then brought back has brought those memories back to the surface. He's reverting back to what he knows...and he's scared of doing anything involving touching or being close to another man."

Beverly went white, clapping a hand over her mouth in shock. Ben clenched his fists for a moment, staring angrily off into space as if wishing Sonia Kaspbrak was present. Mike just looked shellshocked and heartbroken, and most of all, angry at himself.

"Oh, God....I... I misunderstood. I thought he was Pennywise trying to blend in... everything that I thought was the clown was just... _trauma."_ He looked very old in that instant, sighing and running a hand through his greying hair. "I was...worried, that if Eddie really was Pennywise, that he would try to hurt one of us once we lowered our guard. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare him..."

Stan frowned and sat down with them, the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. "If it makes you feel any better, I just spent the better part of two days stuck in the sewers with him and the most non-Eddie thing he did that whole time was not complain about being soaked in blood and sewage. To be fair there wasn't much we could do about it anyways..."

Mike's guilty expression didn't change. "How did you find out about the...the camp? Did he tell you?"

Richie sighed somewhat wearily. "No, he just...he started acting weird, like he didn't want any of us to touch him and he made some comments...and then Stan remembered that Eddie told him that he was going to summer camp shortly after he left Derry." He shot Mike a worried look, only relaxing when the librarian gave him a small nod to indicate there were no hard feelings over the mistake. 

Mike looked lost in thought, his fingers interlaced and his eyes half lidded as he tried to think logically. "That would have been around the time that a lot of churches were really pushing the anti gay agenda...hm. Sonia's passed now, correct...?"

Stan faltered and shot Richie a questioning look, as if expecting him to know. "I don't...did he say anything about it, when you all met up at the restaurant?"

Richie furrowed his brow and Beverly answered for him. "It didn't come up at all. He just said he was married and changed the subject."

Ben bit his lip and spoke up softly. "Did he say anything about his wife? Her name, where they live? Maybe if we got ahold of her she could tell us more about what's happened since he left Derry...?"

Richie hummed for a second before snapping his fingers. "Myra. Her name's Myra Kaspbrak. He owns that limo company in Brooklyn, I bet if we called someone could get ahold of her."

Stan nodded, glancing over at Mike. "Do you mind if we use your phone?"

The librarian gestured vaguely at the wall phone hanging behind them. "Go ahead, see if the operator can find the number for you." His mind was racing, however. He was a member of the city council and if he remembered correctly, Sonia Kaspbrak had a safety deposit box at the bank that she had left behind when she had packed up Eddie and fled town. Perhaps there was information inside that would help them understand what Eddie possibly had gone through. If she was dead, the items would automatically become her son's property.

Bev looked relieved as she stood up, glad to be doing something to try and make things right. "Surely Eddie would have told her about it, or mentioned anything about a camp? She's his wife, she must know something."

Stan hummed in thought as he spun the dial to get the operator on the line. Within only a few short minutes, he had the number, scrawling it in his neat handwriting along the top of a newspaper sitting on the counter. 

He glanced over at the kitchen. "Any of you want to do this...?"

Richie stared hard at the floor before he stood up. "Yeah. I'll call." He reached his hand out and took the phone from Stan, glancing over at Mike, Beverly, and Ben as if wondering if any of them would want to instead. They stared at him in silence.

"....I'll call." Richie repeated, more to himself than anything, before raising the phone to his ear and spinning the dial as he inputted the number. He was nervous despite himself. This was the woman that Eddie had chosen, had decided was the best person for him above everyone else _(above Richie)._ It rang six times, seven, before going to an answering machine of Eddie's own voice. 

_"Thank you for calling Kaspbrak's Chauffeuring and Limousines, our office hours are ten am to three am, seven days a week, unfortunately no one is available to take your call right now-"_ Richie hung up with a sigh, shaking his head.

"It's a no go, guys, nobody's there right now."

Mike nodded. "Makes sense, I suppose, it is pretty early. We can try again later."

Ben frowned and glanced at his watch. "Yeah, that's true. But I think maybe we need to talk about where we go from here."

Four pairs of eyes landed on him and he wriggled a little uncomfortably at being the center of attention. "I mean, It's dead...we aren't just all going to stay in Derry forever, are we?"

Richie looked somewhat ill as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I stormed out, my agent was furious. I kinda thought...well, let's just say I didn't have a lot of plans for the future, capiche? I wonder how deep of shit I'm in for disappearing off the face of the earth for four days."

Beverly sighed. "I took a few more days off work, but any longer than that and I'll need to get a replacement or something. I don't have to be there every day but once my employees are done with their current workload I'll need to decide what order to finish next...."

Stan made as if to speak, before pausing and giving a dry laugh. "I-I was going to say, tax season is coming up soon and I have some continuing education classes up in Atlanta but then I realized it doesn't really matter now, does it? I-I'm _dead."_ There was something a little off in his voice and Beverly reached over to pull him into a gentle hug. 

"I'm sorry, Stan...." she murmured, and he leaned into her with a weary sigh. 

"I...I should go get some sleep." He said, standing and sweeping from the room. Ben and Mike shared a glance and wondered if he had escaped before any real feelings could show. Stan had always been very proud and didn't like to look 'weak' in front of anyone.

He didn't seem to realize that the members of the Loser's Club weren't just anyone.


	19. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike and the others address what to do about the fact that there's an actual dead body currently in Mike's room at the Derry Town House.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are awesome *^* I hope you all have a wonderful day today!

When Bill returned from the hospital almost four hours later, he was expecting the house to be more...awake. Instead he found people in various states of awareness, Stan and Georgie still asleep on the couch, Mike's bedroom door closed.

He cracked the door silently and blinked as he saw Eddie asleep, curled up under a soft quilt and looking almost peaceful for the first time since they had returned from the sewers. Eddie looked so much younger when he wasn't awake, and could have been mistaken for a man of twenty nine, easy. His eyes mapped the man's face, noting all the subtle differences from when he was just a boy of thirteen. Bill saw his lips were chapped, he had deep bags under his eyes, could spy a faint scar just along Eddie's right eye socket that he didn't totally remember from their childhood... perhaps something left over from the rock fight? Bill stepped out of the room to give him privacy, shutting the door as quietly as he could.

He came back out into the living room, smiling warmly down at Stan and Georgie. His little brother was drooling slightly on Stan's chest, one small arm flopped over him as if afraid he was going to leave. Likewise, Stan had part of the afghan he was using draped over the boy as if to hide him from prying eyes.

"Fucking adorable isn't it?" Richie asked from behind him, Bill jumping slightly in surprise.

"Juh-Jesus, Richie, you sc-scared me!" he whispered, giving him a small frown. The taller man just shot him a teasing grin, pointing back towards the kitchen. 

"The rest of us were just catching up a bit, if you wanna join? Coffee's on."

Bill smirked, following Richie back into the kitchen. "Coffee, guh-guys? It's almost n-noon."

Ben grinned at him over his own cup. "Let's just say it's been a hell of a day and leave it at that, eh, Big Bill?"

Mike snorted and gave a small smile behind his mug. "Cream and sugar's in the pantry if you take it that way." 

Richie gave an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, I see how it is! We can talk about how _Bill_ takes it, but as soon as I talk about things getting steamy with my attractive young secretary suddenly nobody wants to hear about it-"

"Beep beep, Richie." Beverly said with a smirk. "Nobody wants to hear about some sleazeball comedian stealing the heart of some young innocent girl."

Richie blinked and looked mock offended, pressing a hand over his heart. "Young, sure. Innocent? Absolutely not. As for whether or not they were a girl, I'll leave that to your imagination." He chuckled and turned back to the coffee machine, fiddling with it and seeming to be trying to get it to spit out more coffee faster.

Mike sighed as he drained the mug and sat it down on the table. "I think we need to talk about what we're going to do about Bowers."

Now he knew how Ben must have felt, with all the eyes in the room on him.

"What do you mean, Mike?" Ben asked curiously, even as Richie plucked the empty mug from the table and began to idly clean it, his fingers evidently itching for something to do.

Mike frowned. "None of you have thought about the fact that there's a dead body up in my room at the town house? I'd prefer to not have you all visit me from the county jail cell."

Suddenly Richie's eyes widened and the mug slipped from his hands, only Beverly's quick reflexes stopping it from smashing against the tile as she caught it deftly. "Oh, _fuck,_ you guys, Eddie's fingerprints are going to be on the knife! On _Henry!_ This is not fucking good, the cops will be looking for anyone out of place to pin the murders on!"

Ben took the mug from Beverly's hand and set it on the counter behind him. "I didn't even think about that, when we were pulling Henry off of Mike, Eddie shoved him, the knife slipped...we were all so worried about getting Mike to the hospital we didn't even think about how that would _look...!"_

Richie paced nervously, biting his lip and wringing his hands. "God damn it, Eddie can't go to prison, he's not built for it, he's already having enough issues right now without adding cops to it!"

Bill reached over and squeezed Richie's shoulder. "Cuh-Calm down, Richie. It's only been t-two days. Chuh-Chances are that....n-nobody has found the b-body yet. We can st-still keep Edd-die safe. Cl-Clean the knife and...hide the b-body."

Richie drew in a deep inhale through his nose, nodding. "Y-Yeah. Okay. Yeah, that makes sense." 

Bev looked from Bill to Mike to Richie to Ben. "What are we going to do with it?"

Mike spoke up, his voice as chilly as the weather outside. "Where all the other trash in this city always ends up. The Kenduskeag."

Bill's eyes widened. "Th-throw him in th-the river?"

Richie snorted. "Why not? Hell, Bowers' woulda happily seen us all dead in there, it's no skin off my back to do the same."

Ben was thinking more intently. "The Kenduskeag flows downstream past Juniper Hill. The police might think he died or was injured during his escape attempt. That makes the most sense. Plus, it'll wash any evidence away, too."

Bill nodded, seeing no indecisiveness in their expressions. If it would keep one of their own safe, they would do what they had to. "How are wuh-we doing this?" he asked finally.

"We can't all go, there's no room in the car." Beverly pointed out, getting to her feet and dumping the rest of her coffee into the sink.

"Car...? Wait, you mean _my car?_ There's no way we're lugging a two day old corpse into my car!" Richie cried with a scowl.

Beverly rolled her eyes and patted his cheek, her voice thick with sarcasm. "Oh, okay, let's just call a taxi for Henry, then. Think they'll notice anything off about one of their passengers?"

Richie huffed. "Damn it....fine. But if Bowers leaks anything nasty on the interior I'm charging you all for the detailing bill."

Ben gave a small smile. "Send it to Eddie, he's the one in the most danger here."

Richie's expression softened at the reminder of who they were doing this for, and Bev gave Ben a knowing look. It was so beyond obvious to them all how head over heels for Eddie Richie actually was. Now if only he would get his head out of his ass and do something about it...

"Nah, Spaghetti Man gets the best friend resurrection discount." Richie shot back. "Sassy redheaded fashion designers and pro wrestling poetic architects pay double."

Mike gave a small smile as he put on his coat. "That's an oddly specific clientele you've got there, Trashmouth."

Richie grinned good naturedly. "What can I say? Only the best quality losers get to ride in my car."

Ben frowned as he glanced over at the convertible. "Speaking of best quality losers, who's going to do this? We can't all go, we'll attract way too much attention. It's the middle of the day, we can't exactly drag a corpse down the stairs into the lobby."

Mike frowned. "Haystack's right. We need to handle this carefully."

Bill's skin prickled as they all turned to look at him. It was his job to lead, it always had been. "I thuh-think Richie and Muh-Mike should go. Mike's wuh-well known around D-Derry, s-so he shouldn't be suh-suspected e-even if anyone s-sees anything wuh-weird. Ruh-Richie could suh-sell a gag ruh-reflex to a h-hooker, so he's g-gotta go, too, in c-case someone asks qu-questions."

Richie bowed over dramatically with a chuckle. "I feel like I should be offended, but I'm too shocked by the fact that Big Bill just said the words 'selling a gag reflex to a hooker' with a straight face with his baby brother sleeping only a room away. For shame, Big Bill."

Bill rolled his eyes. "Anyways... muh-maybe you tuh-two can h-head back to the room and suh-see what's going on. Muh-Make sure nobody knows a-anything. If they _do,_ you can cuh-call back here and we'll g-get Eddie out of tuh-town."

Beverly nodded quickly. "But be careful, Rich. Last thing we need is you to be suspected for this either. And if they haven't found the body, for God's sakes don't touch it!"

Ben crossed his arms over his chest. "We'll all handle it tonight, this is just strictly to see what's exactly is going on. Don't try to deal with it yourselves, okay? Please."

And with that somber note in the air, Richie and Mike headed to the car to find out more about Bowers. 

"Figures that even in death that piece of shit is still causing us trouble." Richie grumbled, before shifting into first gear and roaring out of the driveway.


	20. Unbecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beverly and Ben try to comfort Bill, who's still upset about Audra. Mike and Richie discover something at the Derry Townhouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, not sure what the posting schedule with be soon, I'm having issues getting things to come out the way I want them to. Like the story is there it's just not...good? Lol, it needs some tweaking at least. Sorry to all of you who have come to expect daily updates, and hopefully after a short hiatus I'll be back at it again soon. *^* Love you all!

Once Mike and Richie had left, Beverly tugged Bill down into a chair, Ben pouring himself another glass of coffee. Bill looked somewhat dazed, and stared at the countertop as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Bev shot Ben a worried glance and he shrugged, pouring the hot black coffee into a mug and reaching out to offer it to Bill.

"How was Audra...?" she asked softly, trying to see if she could get him to start talking. Bill sighed a bit wearily, taking the hot cup of coffee from Ben with a short incline of his head. He sipped from it for a long moment, pausing and sighing a bit.

"Shuh-She's still....I mean, she h-hasn't..." His eyes stung with unshed tears. "Nuh-no change."

Ben put his hand over Bill's and gave it a small squeeze. "I'm so sorry, Bill..." Ben couldn't imagine how heartbreaking this must be for him, to watch the woman he loved become a shell of her former self. His thoughts drifted to Beverly in the same situation and he immediately shook his head to clear it. That was too horrible to imagine.

Their leader seemed to crumple, grief making him seem smaller. "I...I shuh-shouldn't be s-so upset...! Juh-Georgie's back... Stan's buh-back, even Eddie's back...I juh-just...just w-wish she could be, too."

Beverly reached out to pull him into a tight hug. "It's okay to wish that, Bill, it doesn't make you ungrateful or anything. You love her, too, and it's horrible that she's...hurt, like this...but just try to trust in the doctors. They're doing everything they can." She looked at Ben over Bill's shoulder with a sort of panicked look, as if unsure what to say to comfort him, to make him feel better.

Bill wiped his tears away with one hand, so incredibly grateful to his self made family of the Loser's Club. "Wh-What if it's not enough...! What if...sh-she's like thuh-this for good...?"

Ben bit his lip, giving Bill's hand a strong squeeze and giving Beverly a small nod of understanding. "Don't do that to yourself, man. You don't deserve that kind of pain. If she is, then you're doing everything you can for her. I know she'd appreciate that."

Beverly smiled at Ben, grateful once again for his uncanny ability to seem to always know the right words to say. Bill squeezed his hand back, remaining quiet. It was clear he wasn't totally convinced. Ben was disappointed to see Bill retreating back into the sad lonely man he had been before reuniting with Georgie, Stan, and Eddie, but he didn't know what to do to stop it.

"Maybe you should try to lay down for a bit. I'm sure Stan and Georgie wouldn't mind sharing the couch, there's plenty of room..." Beverly said with a small smile.

Bill nodded shakily and got to his feet. "I...I duh-don't want to wuh-wake them up, I'll just luh-lay on the floor. Th-thanks."

He nodded at them both for a minute before stepping into the living room, carefully building a small nest of blankets and settling down for a nap.

Ben turned his attention on Beverly, giving her a small smile. "I...I know that Audra's still not okay, and I shouldn't be this happy, but...can you believe this?"

Bev smiled weakly, looking glad that somebody else seemed to feel the same. "I know what you mean. I feel bad about Audra, but...we've got them back. All of them, even Georgie, I..." she grinned, joy making her seem much younger than a woman of thirty nine years old. "I'm so....happy they're all okay. Even with Eddie and the whole...conversion camp, and Stan's wife, and everything else...I just...I just can't believe they're alive again."

Ben nodded. "I...yeah, me too. I don't care what state they're in, we can help them get through this, but only if they're still breathing."

Beverly nodded and twirled a strand of her long red hair around her finger, seeming to be deep in thought. Before she could speak she was interrupted by the phone ringing. "Do you think Mike would mind if I...?"

Ben shook his head and Bev stood up, smoothing down her dress and answering the phone. 

"Hello? This is the Hanlon residence."

"......." 

There was a long silence and then a dial tone. Beverly frowned, furrowing her brow and glancing over at Ben in confusion. "That was weird."

He stood, giving her and then the phone a curious look. "Was it a wrong number or something?"

Beverly shrugged and hung the receiver back on the hook. "I don't know, they didn't say anything. I thought maybe it would be Richie or Mike with some news. Want to step outside with me for a sec? I could use a cigarette."

Ben nodded and the two of them walked quietly through the living room, only for Bev to cover her mouth with a grin and point.

At some point Georgie must have awoken and decided it wouldn't do for Bill to sleep alone, so he had dragged a pillow off the couch and shoved it under his head, before cuddling up next to him and falling back asleep. Bill's arm was draped over him protectively and his face was more peaceful than they'd seen it in years. Stan seemed to somehow know Georgie had left even in his sleep, as one arm was dangling over the side of the couch to brush lightly against Bill's shoulder. He looked like he was a few minutes away from simply falling off the couch entirely.

They stepped out onto the porch and waited for Richie and Mike to return, Bev slowly exhaling white smoke and Ben sipping his coffee as they watched the minimal traffic drive by.

* * *

"The mission is a go!" Richie hissed dramatically as he got out of the red convertible, slamming the door and humming the Mission Impossible theme under his breath. Mike just stared at him for a minute before shaking his head and walking up the steps of the Derry Town House. 

"Beep beep, Richie, time to be serious." he murmured out of the corner of his mouth, drawing out his room key from his pocket and looking around for any policemen.

"Oh, come on, that was hardly worth a beeping, Micycle." Richie complained, stubbing out the remains of his cigarette on the wall of the brick building and flicking the butt into the bushes. He stuck his hands in his pockets to warm them up and hummed the next verse to himself.

The two needn't have worried about being stealthy or blending in, as the whole place seemed to be deserted. The teller was absent, a simple sign reading 'Gone To Lunch' left in her place. A few other guests could be heard chatting in the lounge, but nobody seemed to regard Mike and Richie with even a passing glance. They may as well have been invisible. 

"What room number?" Richie asked as they slipped silently up the stairs. He looked like he was resisting the urge to do ninja flips down the hallway, and Mike couldn't hold back a weary sigh. 

The shorter of the two frowned, looking down the hallway where most of the other Losers had been staying. "302. End of the hall." he said somewhat absentmindedly. His fingers came to rest on a small patch of dark brown smeared along the wall by Ben's room. Had he been bumped against this wall while Eddie and Ben carried him out...? He couldn't remember, but this was definitely an old bloodstain.

Richie took the key from his hand and headed down to the last room on the left, but something else had caught Mike's attention.

Eddie's door wasn't shut all the way, and neither was Beverly's. He could see Beverly having possibly forgotten to pull it tight in her haste to get to the hospital, and upon a quick cursory glance inside he found nothing to be noticeably out of place, besides a phonebook flipped open to the 'H' section.

He next went to check Eddie's room, slowly poking his head inside and frowning, as it also appeared to be untouched. He knew the couple who ran the Derry Town House and they were a trustworthy sort, they wouldn't snoop inside a guest's room.

The whole place was spotless, as Eddie had left it, the bed perfectly made as usual. The answering machine was flashing madly, informing Mike of _27 New Messages!_ He frowned and wondered if it was just the chauffeuring service redirecting calls to the number Eddie had provided or if he was just oddly popular. Maybe somebody was worried about him.

He sat down on the bed for a moment, the exertion of walking up the stairs to the third floor having gotten to him. Mike found his fingers tracing the bedsheets, the spread the same pattern and color as they had been for the past twenty years. He smiled at that small feeling of nostalgia, tracing the looping pattern up the spread and under the pillow absentmindedly.

His fingers brushed against something cold and unyielding just below the pillow.

Brow furrowed, Mike picked it up and set it aside, freezing in terror at what had been very deliberately left under Eddie's pillow.

It was an old worn pocket knife, the surface of which was crinkly with dried blood. 

It had been buried in Mike's side only a day and a half prior.

Mike's breathing quickened even as Richie burst into the room, face white and panic evident on his features.

"He's gone, Mike! Bowers' body is fucking _gone!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhh noooo nobody saw this coming *^*


	21. Now I See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan wakes up in a compromising position with Bill. Richie realizes something about Eddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm back! Hopefully the next chapter makes up for the short wait. ;3 Not gonna lie I think the parts with Richie being lovestruck and daydreaming are probably my favorite thing I've written for this so far. Idk I'm weird. XD

Stan yawned slightly to himself as he awoke, looking somewhat rumpled despite his best efforts. He reached out to take his watch from the nightstand behind his head only for his fingertips to brush fluffy carpet.

He froze for a second as he realized the position he had awoken in.

Clearly at some point during his nap he had fallen from his place on the couch. The only problem was, Bill and Georgie were sleeping on the floor beneath the couch, and even though he hadn't woken either them or himself, Stan now found himself essentially trapped in an awkward position.

Bill had curled into him during the nap, one lanky arm thrown over Stan's waist and the other under his head as a makeshift pillow. Georgie was on Bill's other side, snoring on obliviously. Bill's legs were tangled loosely with Stan's, and all in all it was an entirely too intimate position for two men that were honestly just friends.

Stan couldn't help but feel embarrassed, but knew he wasn't going to be able to slip out of Bill's hold without waking him or Georgie up, and to be honest, they both could use the sleep.

His cheeks alight with a red blush, Stan tried to gently wiggle backwards far enough that it could be considered totally platonic snuggling. Bill was _married,_ the last thing Stan wanted to do was wreck Bill's relationship with Audra. It was a confusing time right now for all of them, especially what with the three dead boys being brought back to life somehow. Stan wasn't going to make a play for a man who was already spoken for (even if a small part of him really _really_ wanted to.) He was honest enough to himself to admit that he had never really gotten over Bill, even when he didn't remember his name. He could remember the urge to kiss Patty increasing when she had been so flustered standing at the altar that she started to stutter through her vows, and of course he didn't understand the connection until he was revived, or even until this very moment.

Bill snorted lightly and before Stan could protest, warm arms were dragging him close again, his face pressed firmly against their leader's chest. His eyes widened in embarrassment but despite his halfhearted attempts to sneak out of Bill's hold, he remained stubbornly stuck there. 

Stan sighed heavily and finally gave up on any chance of escaping this encounter with his pride intact. It wasn't worth it to wake Bill up just to make him let go. And to be honest, Bill smelled faintly of ink and honey and was extremely warm, it was like being hugged by a personal space heater. Already he could feel his heavy eyelids slowly falling closed again, and he was more comfortable in Bill's arms than he had been in ages. Stan briefly contemplated just enjoying it for a moment. It wasn't like Bill would want to cuddle with him when he was awake, he was likely just mistaking Stan for Audra...

Bill's lips barely moved as he mumbled, "L've y-you...." 

Stan felt cold all of a sudden upon his suspicions being confirmed, felt dirty and ashamed of himself. Audra hadn't even been in the hospital a full day yet and already he was intruding on their relationship.

His somewhat panic inducing thoughts were cut off as Bill shifted again, burying his face in the crook of his neck and breathing out a soft exhale against his skin that sounded suspiciously like, "...Stan."

The accountant blinked in a quiet sort of surprise, and while he was thinking about the proper way to respond to that out of the blue confession he began to drift back asleep. 

Maybe he could let himself have this brief piece of comfort, if only for a moment.

"Mm...love you, too, Bill...."

* * *

Richie stubbed out his third cigarette in the past hour irritably into his ash tray, glancing over at the bank Mike had just gone into. He had insisted he needed something there, but hadn't bothered to explain more to the fidgety man behind the wheel.

"It better be some sort of Bowers' repellant or a goddamned AR-15, Micholas, or I'm leaving your ass on the curbside!"

Mike rolled his eyes and gave him a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's for Eddie."

Richie quieted down and didn't complain as much after that, earning a small chuckle from the other man. The comedian was so whipped and he didn't even know it.

Mike stepped into the bank and began a terse conversation with the teller, explaining that he was on the city council and a family member was going to claim the belongings of Sonia Kaspbrak that had been sitting there for over twenty years.

Normally they would ask Eddie to come in and sign for them himself, but the teller just nodded and disappeared into the back, shoving a sealed box over the counter to Mike. Adults didn't ask questions in Derry. The box itself was about the size of a shoebox, and deceptively light. Mike thanked whatever stroke of luck stopped them from wanting Eddie to pick this up in person, because if his hunch about what was inside was correct, Eddie might not want to ever know. 

He frowned down at the box as he carried it out to the car, Richie deliberately jamming his elbow into the horn while he faked his own death in the front seat. 

"I didn't take that long." Mike said with a small smirk, Richie rolling his eyes.

"Coulda fooled me. So what's the deal with us making a pit stop to what, pick up Mrs. K's old dildo collection? What's this shit for anyway, Mike?" He asked curiously, reaching over to flip up the lid of the box before Mike could stop him.

Richie caught a glimpse of yellow folders, a logo which read NARTH, and disturbingly, a photo of what looked like Eddie a few months older than when he had moved away, staring dazedly into the camera, bandages around his head-

-Mike slammed the lid closed, his mouth set in a deep line. He wasn't angry at Richie, more so at the situation itself. _"No,_ Richie. Don't look."

His brown eyes darted up to meet with Mike's with a somewhat astounded expression, and concern was flooding into his voice before he could stop it. "What the _fuck_ is this, why did he look so-"

Mike's voice was low but firm. "Richie, please. This...this is for Eddie. Not for any of us besides Eddie, okay? If he wants to share later that's his business, but...we can't intrude on this. I don't...I don't even think he knows, yet."

Richie felt like he had been sucker punched, long fingers tracing the lid of the box that held such terrible secrets inside. He felt sick to his stomach, like he might actually vomit at the confirmation that yes, Eddie had gone through something terrible and none of them had been able to stop it. "You don't...? H-How could he not know? How could he not remember something as awful as conversion therapy?"

Mike hummed to himself in thought even as Richie pulled out of the parking space and headed towards Mike's house. "It's...I'm not sure, to be honest. Whether it's just a part of leaving this town, the forgetting...or if it's something else. Something worse. I...I sometimes wonder just how far out of Derry the damn clown's influence actually went."

Richie swallowed hard and deliberately didn't look at the box the entire drive home.

He pulled into the driveway and huffed, running his hands together to chase the chill away. It was already getting cooler, and a small part of him yearned to be back in California where it was warm and things were normal. People didn't get eaten by sewer clowns, late night comedians didn't perform hidden rituals with stuttering authors to mentally battle an ancient evil, and the dead stayed were they had fallen.

_'And you're alone, did you forget that part? You think you're some hotshot now, Tozier, but when the stage lights come down and the credits roll and you go home to Beverly Hills you've just got this big empty mansion and not a soul around. No Bill, Beverly, and Ben. No Mike and Stan. No **Eddie.'**_

Richie blinked for a moment as he found himself picturing a life with Eddie in California. The asthmatic man huffing and bitching about _'eight bedrooms in this goddamned house and you can't even contain the mess to just one of them?'_ He pictured Eddie moving his limousine business out to Hollywood, took a second to imagine Eddie as _his_ limousine driver. He thought of rolled eyes and small smirks, seeing Eddie watching him perform from the back room that his agent usually occupied, flipping him the bird anytime he caught Richie looking. Thought of having a congratulatory drink with him at his home _(their home)_ in Beverly Hills, laying on the couch next to the fireplace and watching Ghostbusters like they used to when they were just kids. He thought of reaching across Eddie to turn the light off, a breathy giggle against his mouth, and waking up the next morning with a hickey on his throat, scratches down his back, and the chance to do it all over again that same day.

And God, Richie felt a surge of joy at that little daydream, he wanted it so badly he was physically aching for it. Surely that wasn't that weird, he just wanted to live with his best friend and spend every waking moment that he could with him, and wanted to see him happy and okay and sometimes make out with him but only if he's okay with it-

And that was when Richie suddenly and abruptly realized he was in love with Eddie Kaspbrak.

"Fuck!" Richie exclaimed, slamming to a halt a bit too abruptly in Mike's driveway, nearly taking out the tree in the front yard.

And he knew in that instant why California didn't ever feel like home to him.

The only time he truly felt like he was home was when Eddie was at his side. Anywhere that wasn't with the shorter man was too far away.

God, and they called Ben Hanscom the sappy one.


	22. Pandora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Mike make it back to the rest of the Losers. Richie overhears a conversation between Eddie and Myra. Eddie starts to remember bits of his time at straight camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, just wanted to give a big warning for the end of this chapter and the majority of the next chapter. Eddie regains his memories of what happened to him the summer after he leaves Derry and it's not at all nice, and causes him to have a violent panic attack. He is also emotionally abused by Myra over the phone so be aware of that also. The themes of this chapter and the next may be triggering to some so please read with caution!
> 
> Most of my knowledge of the sorts of 'treatments' they used at conversion camps was found online so apologies for inaccuracies. I'm not a doctor.

When they walked up the porch, Ben and Beverly were already waiting outside, a half finished Winston clutched between two of Bev's fingers. She put it out quickly and stood, noting the grim expressions on their faces. "Well? What's going on?"

Mike opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, and glanced down at the box in his hands. "We'll talk about it inside. I think this is a discussion for all of us. But, first...Richie..? Can you give this to Eddie?" he asked, offering the box to him.

Richie bit his lip and grudgingly took it, feeling the weight of it in his hands. "If I didn't think this would help him in the long run, I'd chuck this shit in the garbage and be done with it." he muttered, gently nudging past Ben and Beverly to hand it over. 

He spotted Stan and Bill spooning on the floor and paused to fumble for Mike's Polaroid camera, sitting on the end table, before snapping a few shots. Richie couldn't help but snicker despite the seriousness of the current situation. Bowers' body was gone, Eddie had been tortured at straight camp, and none of the Loser's Club would ever be able to sleep peacefully again. But hell, at least Bill and Stan could finally shack up on Mike's living room floor. 

Richie chuckled and slipped one of the photos into his back pocket. 

"Fuckin' cute."

He picked the box back up and started up the stairs to Mike's bedroom, not even attempting to be quiet. Richie didn't want to startle Eddie awake, especially given what he was bringing up to him.

However, as he approached the closed door and raised one hand to knock, he could make out a voice from inside.

It was Eddie, murmuring softly to someone.

Richie nudged the door slightly and it swung silently open about two inches. He could see Eddie curled up on the bed, mumbling into the receiver of the phone on Mike's nightstand, flinching as if almost wounded when the other person replied.

He was crying.

Richie took a step back and glanced over to the wall, spying another receiver. Odd that a librarian apparently could afford to have three phones in his house, but Richie wasn't going to waste time looking a gift horse in the mouth. He set the box on the ground and very slowly lifted the phone to his ear. A part of him felt incredibly guilty for eavesdropping on a private conversation, but he couldn't get the way Eddie had flinched when the other person talked out of his head. He wanted to know what was wrong.

 _"-ddie, listen to me! You have to come home, I don't want you there anymore!"_ A shrill female voice demanded.

Eddie's voice, sounding so soft over the line. "Myra, please...I've only been here two days, I can't just up and leave-"

 _"Oh, so you can't up and leave **them** but you'll up and leave me? Your wife? How could you do this to me, Eddie, you're **hurting me!** People are talking about you, you know! Awful things! Horrible things about how you ran off to be with some man!"_ The woman was crying now, thick and unabashedly weeping into the phone, the same way Sonia used to when she wanted to guilt Eddie into doing something. Richie could tell it was working because Eddie's expression had softened, and he found his hand clenching into a fist around the phone. How many times had she done this to him? How many times had he been manipulated into doing what this Myra girl wanted?

_"Do you even know how worried you made me? I was out of my mind, no calls, no nothing! You promised me you would call! You **lied to me!"**_

Eddie froze, face going pale as he tried to explain himself. "I-I'm sorry, I just-" He fumbled for a believable excuse, anything to placate her, make her stop screaming like that-

_"You just? You just what, Eddie? Why don't you trust me? Why would you treat me like this? I love you, Eddie! And you repay me by running off without a word?"_

Eddie closed his eyes and tried to focus on just breathing. "I-I love you too, Myra, I...I _do..."_

He remembered stumbling over those words at his wedding, seeing Myra's eyes narrow and feeling less than worthless.

_"Then why won't you just listen to me and come home! Prove it! Prove that you love me and leave and come home right **now!"**_

Richie bit his lip firmly to stop himself from making a noise of outrage. What right did she have to say such things to Eddie? To mess with his emotions and toy with his heart that way? His eyes were narrowed and he was on the verge of trembling in rage.

Eddie if possible got quieter. "I...I'm not- no, I didn't...Myra, please, I-I just- I don't know how you got this number, but this isn't the Derry Townhouse, this is my friend Mike's personal phone, so please don't-"

The woman, _(no not just any woman Myra his wife Eddie's wife Myra)_ plowed over him, her voice increasing in volume. _"Y-You're at another man's house? You told me you were staying at a hotel! More lies, Eddie! Why would you do this to me? How cruel can you be?"_ she wailed, and Richie looked up to see Eddie's shoulders sagging in misery.

This was getting to be too much, and Eddie's face burned with embarrassment as if Bill, Stan, and Georgie would be awoken somehow from the volume of Myra's shouting. His own voice was soft, scared, just trying to do what he could to get her to stop-

"I-I...Myra, sweetheart, let me exp-"

_"No. No, I don't want to hear any explanation! I know enough! I just...I thought you were **better,** Eddie. Sonia **told** me you were better! That you weren't a **fag** anymore! I thought that they fixed you!"_

His headache was increasing and so was Eddie's anger. _"Who_ fixed me? Nobody! Nobody fixed me because _I'm not fucking broken!"_

He slammed the receiver back onto the hook and took a minute to just breathe, heaving in a deep desperate gasp as he tangled his fingers through his shaggy brown hair. Richie ignored the shrill _'Eddie? Eddie!'_ in his ear before he too hung up the phone, stepping forward to knock on the doorframe.

"Yoo-hoo, Spaghetti Man. You good? I heard yelling." he said casually, not wanting to admit having overheard the conversation with Eddie's wife.

Eddie jolted, eyes wide as he spun around to see who had just stepped in. "Richie...? I-sorry, I just, I was-" He smoothed down the front of his shirt and bit his lip as if worrying he was doing something wrong. It made Richie's blood boil to see Eddie's reactions and realizing that some of them had a cause, and she was it.

Myra.

Richie had never really cared much for the name before but now he really found himself loathing it.

"Hey, don't worry about it. Listen, we've gotta go talk to everyone about what's going on. Why don't you take five, get your cool and collected Kaspbrak face on, and come down to join us?"

Eddie rolled his eyes, seeming grateful for the distraction. "Y-Yeah. I'll be down in a minute." He said softly. Richie tactfully didn't mention the way Eddie's hands were shaking as he turned to make the bed. 

Once Richie was out of earshot, however, Eddie felt himself beginning to crack a little, stepping into the adjoining bathroom and staring at himself in the mirror. His hair was getting longer now, brushing against the back of his neck.

Eddie had never let it grow this long, usually Myra or his Mother would insist he _'didn't have the face for long hair, it's too pretty, you look like a girl...or a queer.'_

In a hilarious fit of rage he laughed, vowing he wouldn't let Myra decide what length his hair was allowed to be ever again. He briefly contemplated letting it grow past his shoulders purely out of spite. His mind was racing and he felt itchy all over, like spiders were running up and down his arms. 

He felt _afraid._

There were two baskets of clean clothes having been abandoned in the corner, and Eddie cringed before the dirty laundry in the hamper caught his eye. Without really thinking much about it, he began to load up the washing machine and got started on laundry. Anything to keep the terror away. Once that was done, however, his eye caught the sight of the windows, which hadn't been cleaned in awhile. To be honest it wasn't very bad, but Eddie felt like he was on the edge of a breakdown and he wanted to be in control. And if that meant cleaning the damn windows, then Eddie was going to clean the damn windows. 

And as he started on them, scrubbing hard at built up mildew with a new scratch pad and a bucket of bleach, his mind was racing. 

Eddie smelled Richie's scent all around him, faint but still clinging to the pajamas he had loaned him sort of desperately. And, God, he didn't want to think about how calming it was, the faint smell of cigarettes, cheap cologne, and something almost exclusively identifiable as _man._ That scent had surrounded him while he slept and made everything feel like maybe it would be okay.

He wasn't supposed to like that smell. That wasn't _okay._ However when he tried to summon up an idea of why it wasn't okay for him, specifically, to act like some sort of _queer,_ he couldn't exactly remember. He just remembered the sound of a shrill whistle, the smell of sap and pine trees, the distant hiss of a school bus skidding to a stop, a new kind of pill, nausea, a pitying sort of smile from a woman who assured him they could cure him of his illness-

-Eddie remembered screaming and not all of it was from him-

His mind jumped back to the time in the taxi with Richie, the taller man's face looking so hurt as the voices of Lonnie, Myra, and his mother asked again, _"You're not some kind of fag, are you?"_

Eddie shivered for a moment at the absolute hatred in their tones, getting to his feet and heading for the top of the stairs, before Richie's calm voice came through and seemed to drown out all the rest.

_"What's wrong with that?"_

Eddie was so stunned that he stopped in his tracks, foot bumping into a box that was sitting innocently on the floor. He crouched down and picked it up, frowning slightly as he saw his mother's handwriting scribbled onto the side reading simply, _'Eddiebear'._

He scooped it up and stepped back into the bedroom, closing the door absentmindedly with his foot.

A part of him was screaming _'no no don't open it don't fucking open it those things give you cancer listen to your Mother your Myra and don't open it-'_

His body felt cold, like he may never be warm again, and he just knew that inside this box was the answer to his questions. Why didn't he feel like he was allowed to touch men? Why wasn't he allowed to even consider liking the same sex? What was he forgetting?

Because Eddie knew there was something wrong, something he couldn't remember. It was a horrible sort of truth, bubbling just below the surface and dancing on the tip of his tongue. He kept waiting for that eureka moment, for the day when he would be able to confidently say he knew what had happened to him the summer that he left Derry, waiting for the day he remembered.

He had been waiting for decades and that day had yet to come. Perhaps that day never would. 

Eddie opened the box.


	23. Boxes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie remembers what happened at camp and has a panic attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning again for a graphic depiction of a panic attack, reference to a minor being forced to look at pornography, unlawful surgeries on minors without their consent, and mentions of brain injuries.  
> I'm so sorry Eddie :(

Inside the deceptively innocent looking box were papers and folders, meticulously organized alphabetically and by size. The first thing that caught Eddie's attention was a receipt, confirming Eddie's attendance at something funded by Exodus International, with several logos around it, and dated about two weeks into the summer he had lost his memories of. NARTH....? He didn't know what that was. Eddie pawed through the box a little more and found pamphlets for something called the National Association for Research & Therapy of Homosexuality. 

His heart sank, although a part of him had known all along.

"Straight camp...? She...she sent me to straight camp...?"

He recognized the logo on everything, it had been on t shirts, banners, posters...

Eddie remembered being _excited._ He didn't know what a conversion camp was anyways, let alone that he was being sent to one.

The hurt and betrayal upon realizing the true nature of the camp.

The pamphlets described things like 'aversion therapy', 'psychological counseling,' and 'round the clock nurse coverage'.

Eddie thought of electrodes, being told he was sick and should hate himself, and remembered the nurse that had stuck him with a sedative-

He found a photograph of himself and stared in pained disbelief, covering his mouth with one hand. The Eddie in the picture looked fractured, unhinged. Empty. He stared soullessly into the camera without seeing, his expression glassy. Eddie found himself thinking of Audra's current condition, it was what this version of himself resembled. There were bandages around his head and his right eye was heavily bruised. He was sixteen years old. In the picture he looked closer to _twelve._

The photo was in a folder marked 'Lawsuit'. Eddie's eyes scanned over documents stating clearly that Sonia Kaspbrak had not approved surgical remedies to 'fix' her son's condition and the doctor, a Mr. Randall Wilhelm had started the transorbital lobotomy procedure anyways, managing to cause minor brain injury to his frontal lobe. Other doctors had said that perhaps he would heal in time, perhaps he would be stuck that way for life.

The doctor who did it had been born in Derry.

And now, _now_ Eddie could vaguely remember being wheeled on a stretcher into a white room, crying and scared, and the doctor's eyes had turned _yellow_ and he had _screamed,_ screamed for BillStanBevMikeBen _Richie_ because in that instant he knew that It wasn't dead but then there was a nurse at his side, a faint pinprick in his arm, and then everything went soft and dark and quiet.

He remembers drifting through the next seven months of his life rather vaguely, as thought his head had been stuffed full of cotton. His mother had to do everything for him, he couldn't do much more than nod or shake his head. Not that it mattered when he did, he had very little concept of what was going on around him anyways. 

A part of him was just floating.

The lawsuit had resulted in Sonia receiving several thousands of dollars to pay for Eddie's hospital bills and the doctor was arrested and stripped of his license for knowingly performing surgery on a minor without parental consent.

Sonia brought him home from the camp and cried the whole time. Eddie remained quiet. He didn't feel sad that she was upset. 

He didn't feel anything at all.

Thoughts of the other horrors he had endured at the camp were darting through his mind, faster and faster, just sick flashes of color, noise, and sensation without end. It was making him feel sick. 

Eddie didn't know where these thoughts were coming from.

These _(memories don't call them memories because they didn't happen they didn't they didn't they)_ thoughts that were as unclear as the bottom of a quarry lake, the kind you spat loogies into from the top of a cliff.

Eddie could feel rage, hot and frothing and so close to exploding out of him as he stumbled back into the bathroom and dropped to his knees beside the bucket, the thick and salty smell of bleach overriding Richie's scent. He was so angry at his mother, at Myra, at _himself._ He was furious with Sonia over what she had Done and what she allowed Them to Do to him. He had gone away for awhile and when he returned it wasn't the same.

 _He_ wasn't the same.

Eddie felt electricity under his fingertips and when he closed his eyes he saw lewd afterimages of naked men, things that even little gay boys shouldn't have to see, followed by a hot surge of nausea and then-

-his hands had some sort of sticky electrodes on them-

-a _'bzzzzt-'_ a sharp crackle in the air, a shock, a zap, a violent surging electrical punch to the chest-

He was vomiting into the bucket, the smell of bleach in his nose, _(the smell of There)_ eyes clenched shut and determined not to look, not to see, they couldn't punish you if you didn't look-

_"Eddie?!"_

-the therapist regarded him with a small frown, scribbling on her clipboard, writing too much, a surge of fear went through him, he answered wrong, he _answered wrong-!_

 _"You're not some kind of fag, are you?"_ screamed Lonnie, Myra, and Sonia.

"N-no, no, I'm not...! Stop it, _STOP IT-!"_

_"Eddie, oh God-!"_

Female hands clutched at him and Eddie scrambled backwards, the nurse, the _nurse-!_

"N-no....no! No! I didn't like it! I _didn't like it!"_ he shrieked desperately, covering his face with his hands.

A low murmur between different voices, one male and low and comforting, one female and worried and was it Myra or his mother-?

His terrified mind fixed on the one person who could save him from both. 

"RICHIE!"


	24. Can't Forget You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and the others comfort Eddie as he explains in detail what he went through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW again for graphic depictions of conversion therapy and panic attacks. 
> 
> Also fun fact I listened to the song 'Can't Forget You' and 'Save Me' by My Darkest Days on repeat while writing this so maybe check those bad boys out *^* They're such Reddie songs. ;)
> 
> Also this chapter is SUPER LONG compared to the others so might not update tomorrow, depends on how much I can bust out today. Thanks for having patience with me!! ;)

Richie walked downstairs somewhat mechanically, mind elsewhere as he pondered the conversation with Myra. Surely she didn't usually talk to him like that? Like Eddie was a particularly bad pet that she had to manipulate through tears and threats to get him to obey?

It was like Sonia all over again, except in a distinctly unhealthy way. 

When he made it to the bottom of the stairs, everyone was waiting. Stan and Bill were standing as far apart as they could while still being a part of the group, Stan's expression carefully neutral and Bill's cheeks flushed a deep red. Evidently they had woken up or been woken up by the others and were now adamantly ignoring the other.

"Oh look, an elephant." Richie said dryly to Stan, elbowing him in the side lightly and slipping the Polaroid he had taken earlier out of his pocket. He shoved it down the front of Stan's shirt, one that had been borrowed out of Mike's clean laundry.

"Beep beep, Richard!" Stan hissed, looking scandalized as he fished it out. When he caught sight of the photo of he and Bill cuddling together his face went white for an instant, before it turned red. "Y-You-?!" He spluttered in disbelief, before Mike spoke up and cut him off.

"Me and Richie made it to the Townhouse. But we might have a problem." he said softly, looking around the group in turn. "Henry Bowers' body wasn't there."

Beverly swore and reached out instinctively to grab Ben's hand. His face turned slightly red but he swallowed once and squeezed her hand in return. 

Stan covered his mouth in thought, drumming his fingers along the sides of his face. He didn't even seem to realize he was tracing his old scars from the last time he fought It face to face. "Do you think the police...?"

Mike shook his head. "The police would love to pin all the murders on Henry, but the news has been quiet. Nobody has even reported him missing from Juniper Hill yet. No, I...I have a theory."

Bill spoke softly, but confidently. "Henry Buh-Bowers was b-brought buh-back, too...w-wasn't he?"

Mike sighed. "We don't know that for sure, but the timing...Stan, Eddie, and Georgie are all miraculously brought back to life and suddenly Henry's body is gone...? It seems too...perfect. Plus...I found this. Under Eddie's pillow in the Townhouse." He held out the bloody pocketknife and watched as they all froze.

"How could-"

"We don't know if-"

"Wait, just-"

"Hey! Can it for a sec!" Richie snapped, holding a hand up for silence, his head tilted slightly towards the ceiling. The rest of them fell quiet, giving him a curious look. He could have sworn he heard a dull _'thud'_ from upstairs. "Hey, where's Spaghetti Man? He hasn't come down yet...?"

Beverly frowned and headed for the stairs. "I'll go get him, maybe he just got held up or something. You know how he gets sometimes..."

Stan nodded, following her. "I haven't had a chance to see how he is since we left the sewers...I'll come, too..."

As Bill and Georgie headed back over to the couch to wait for the last Loser to join them, the child presented Bill with a book off the counter with his brother's own name emblazoned on the cover. 

"Billy, did you write this? Can you read it to me?"

The author blinked as he found himself presented with a new copy of 'The Glowing' and shook his head quickly. "Suh-sorry, Georgie, th-that's too...scary fuh-for kids."

The moment he saw the bottom lip stick out and begin to wobble Bill caved. 

"Huh-how about I ruh-write suh-something for you?"

Georgie's eyes lit up. "Y'mean you'll write a story? Somethin' just for me?"

Bill felt a surge of warmth in his heart that he hasn't felt since before he crafted that damn paper boat. "Sh-sure. What should it b-be about?"

Georgie hummed in thought for a moment. "Hmm....write a book about....me an' Stan an' Eddie! Sailin' on the S.S. Georgie!"

Bill blinked for a second and gave a small smile, reaching into his back pocket for a small notebook and scribbling down some things. "Okay, I c-can do that. Wh-what kind of ah-adventures d-did the brave Captain Juh-Georgie and his two first mates have?"

Georgie giggled excitedly, hugging his knees. "We all floated away!"

Bill's heart stuttered in his chest. "Y...you...ah, what?"

Georgie didn't seem to notice anything was wrong. "Yeah! We all floated for awhile. It was like when Mommy hugs ya and sings a lullaby except you don't wanna get up and keep playing longer. You just wanna stay there and float forever. But Stan and Eddie didn't wanna float. They were screamin' and fighting somethin' for awhile. Then we all woke up in the sewers!"

Bill's fingers trembled lightly around the notebook, his blue eyes widening with intensity. He was beginning to realize something, something he didn't want to consider... "Juh-Georgie, do y-you _ruh-rememb-"_

A sudden cry of surprise tore through the house. "Eddie?!" It was Stan's voice. 

Six pairs of eyes shot towards the stairs as they heard another shout.

"N-no, no, I'm not...! Stop it, _STOP IT-!"_

That was Eddie, and he sounded terrified. Richie's eyes widened in horror as he realized _he had forgotten to give Eddie the box._

"Oh, fuck." he breathed softly, his feet already quickly leading him to the stairs. The others surged for the stairs as well, making a sort of bottleneck where nobody was having much luck heading upstairs.

 _"Eddie, oh God-!"_

This time it was Beverly, and they heard a shuffle and a loud thumping noise like something had fallen. 

"N-no....no! No! I didn't like it! I _didn't like it!"_ Eddie insisted with a shriek, his voice as wrecked and upset as he had been back in the sewers fighting It for the last time.

Richie was awkwardly stuck between Bill and Mike in an attempt to get up the stairs, and then-

"RICHIE!"

His eyes widened, that was _his boy_ screaming for _him_ and goddamnit he was going to get to him. Richie raised one of his long legs over the bannister, one after another, and began to climb the stairs from the side, before hauling himself back over once he made it to the top. It wasn't the most graceful thing to watch but he got up the stairs fastest in the end, getting to his feet and rushing towards the bedroom. 

Stan was in the doorway, biting his lip and looking somewhat unsure whether to approach. When he saw a blur of black curls and a Hawaiian shirt, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Something set him off bad, he's not...he's having some sort of panic attack."

Richie nodded and stepped inside, coffee colored eyes darting from one clue to another. Eddie was on the bathroom floor, having wriggled himself in between the washer and dryer. Beverly was crouched in front of him, biting her lip and speaking to him in a soft, soothing voice, but it only seemed to scare him more. That damned box of secrets was sitting on the bed, opened. Richie quickly tossed the papers back inside without allowing himself to study them and shut the lid, as if he was shutting Pandora's Box in the process, ignoring Stan's questioning gaze.

Richie stepped into the bathroom and his heart sank into his chest when he got a closer look at Eddie. "Oh, baby..."

The shorter man was a wreck, tears pouring down his cheeks which were red from crying so hard. His normally perfectly smoothed down hair was mussed up and uneven, as though he had been tangling his fingers in his hair. He was shaking and mumbling under his breath, and almost didn't seem to be aware of what was going on. 

Richie sank to his knees in front of Eddie, Bev scooting aside knowingly. 

"Eddie...? Hey, Eds? You good, Spaghetti Man? Talk to me." Richie started softly, not expecting any sort of reaction.

Eddie's head shot up from where it was buried in his knees and he gasped. "R-Richie!" he breathed in disbelief, and then he was flinging his arms around Richie's neck, cast and all, and sobbing into his chest, weeping incoherently. 

Richie froze for a second, didn't know whether hugging him back would only scare him more before deciding _'fuck it.'_ He tugged Eddie close to him and breathed in the scent of him, crisp and clean like new laundry mixed with cigarettes and cheap cologne from his own pajamas. 

Eddie's body shook from the force of his cries. "Ch-Chee...she... she sent me... she sent me away! They... they did... I couldn't stop them, and... and the clown, It was there, It made them..."

Richie hummed lightly in his ear, rocking him slowly and never for a second loosening his grip. He had let go of Eddie once, twenty four years ago, and look what had happened. Never again.

"Eds, hey...just breathe for me, okay...? The clown is gone. It won't hurt anyone ever again, okay...? We'll deal with it. We'll get through this together. You're not alone in this and Mrs. K can't hurt you anymore either." Richie let his words flow, inwardly chuckling about the fact that normally Eddie wanted him to be quiet but right now it seemed like the only thing that was keeping Eddie grounded right now was his voice.

"Th...they changed me into someone I'm not... I...I'm _ruined!"_ Eddie choked out brokenly against his chest and Richie tugged him up so he could look him straight in the eye. 

_"No,_ Eds, you're not ruined. It will be okay, you...you just went through some serious shit. We've done it before, it'll take time, but you'll get through this. You _can_ get through this, because you're the strongest person I know, damn it!"

Eddie stilled for a moment, before he started to talk against the side of Richie's neck, not looking him or Beverly directly in the eyes. He didn't seem to realize how close he was pressed to the other man, or if he did, he finally didn't care. He spared a glance to the bathroom door, where the rest of the Losers were loosely clustered, as of waiting to comfort him if they could. Eddie looked away and began to speak. 

"They did terrible things there. Awful things. They....they would make you go to counseling, and all they did was talk about how I should feel disgusted with myself. I...I learned to hate myself there. And then, they would give you pills that...that made you feel sick, and then look at p-pictures-!" He swallowed once, before speaking again. "Th-they made you look at pictures of...of men having s-sex, after you took the pills, so you would learn to feel sick when you looked at queers by yourself. A-and if that didn't work...."

Eddie's hands were shaking and Richie took one in his own, giving his hand a strong squeeze. Eddie gave him a ghost of a smile.

"...i-if that didn't work, they put electrodes on your hands and shocked you when you looked at the pictures. I-I tried to...to act grossed out. I...I wanted to pass, to just do whatever I had to, just to get sent home. I tried getting caught kissing a girl camper, I tried to follow the program for awhile, b-but...it was like I couldn't win. They weren't ever convinced."

Richie could feel rage, thick and hot bubbling in his chest. How dare these people torture kids like this? Over something they can't even control?

"M-My mom...she said... they had ways of cutting the gay away. Some kind of...surgery. But she was scared. She didn't know the doctor even though he was from Derry and so she signed against it when the therapists recommended it for...for me."

Richie's knuckles went white from how hard he was clenching them, and he looked down at Eddie with some concern. "I...Eds, you don't have to...don't have to talk about this if you don't want to. It's okay."

Eddie sighed, looking up at Richie. He wasn't crying anymore. "I...I _want_ to. I want to...to face it, to know that, yeah...it happened to me. But...like you said. I'll....I'll get through it."

Richie felt a surge of admiration and love shoot through him so intensely he couldn't stop from pressing a kiss to the crown of Eddie's head. "Nobody better ever call you weak again in front of me or they're gonna catch these hands." he whispered in his ear, earning a sort of choked off laugh in return.

"I...I overheard the doctor talking about it. I wasn't worried because, you know, I knew my mom hadn't agreed to it and they couldn't just...lobotomize people for no reason."

He cut himself off abruptly and the rest of the Loser's Club standing in the doorway began to share nervous glances. When he spoke again, it was soft. Timid.

"Silly me. I was so naïve, I forgot...faggots don't count as people. And being queer is a perfectly good reason to...to shove a fucking icepick into their brain!"

He gave a sort of gasp and lunged for the bucket again, Richie holding it while Eddie emptied his stomach into it yet again. Beverly was crying, looking like she so badly wanted to reach out and hold him too, but was afraid to scare him more.

"Take it easy, Spageds. You're doing great, just...yep, get it all up. There you go. Wow, that was a big one, damn that was gross..."

Eddie spat into the bucket, raising his head to give Richie a small smirk. "Who would have though Trashmouth Tozier could give a play by play for upchucking into a bucket?"

Richie smirked and reached for some a clean washcloth to wipe Eddie's mouth and chin. "Oh, dontcha know by now, baby? Trashmouth Tozier can give a play by play for anything and make it sound exciting, even giving your mom a good lay in between episodes of The Price Is Right-"

Eddie smacked him in the arm, rolling his eyes. "She stopped watching that before we even moved away, she got sick of them repeating the same games..."

"Well, she probably told _you_ that, Eddie dear, but in reality she was just so used to cumming whenever she heard ole Bob Barker say, "Come on down!" that she couldn't bear to hear it again or it might trigger her Pavlovian response."

Stan smacked himself in the forehead out of stunned disbelief that his loudmouth friend's attempt to cheer Eddie up was actually working. "Richie, you're an idiot."

Eddie just laughed, and it was a sound none of them could remember hearing since they were kids. It was a nice laugh, warm and happy and all of them decided universally that they wanted to hear it again.

When he spoke again, he stayed quiet but he didn't seem as anguished as he had been. He was as calm as if he was just reporting the price of gas this week. 

"The doctor did it anyways. That's what this is from." He said softly, brushing a fingertip along the inside of his right eye socket. Just above his eye was a faint thin white scar, the same one Bill had earlier wondered if it was from the rock fight. 

Beverly couldn't stop herself from scooting over to yank Eddie into a hug. "Oh, baby....I'm so sorry..."

He hugged her back, feeling a strange sort of sense of freedom in it. He wasn't being forced to hug or touch a woman and Beverly didn't make him feel sick or scared the way having to touch Myra did. Bev was unapologetically herself and he felt the way that she loved him, not a possessive, angry sort of love the way his mother and wife did. Just a friendly, accepting, and completely genuine love of Eddie and everything that entailed, gay or not gay, straight or not straight. 

It felt...nice.

"They took me into the room and I knew I was in trouble when the doctor's eyes turned yellow. He started to laugh and...he said... _'There are other ways I can make you float.'_ I started to scream but...the nurse just...she had a sedative, I...I fell asleep. I couldn't help it. And I was in essentially a sleepwalking state for most of the next year. I couldn't talk, couldn't read, couldn't _think._ It was like they reached inside my head a-and...tore me out. Shoved something else back in instead. They...they wanted me to be straight. And when I finally snapped out of it, all I could remember was everything they taught me there, how to fear and hate and act the way 'normal' people do. But I didn't know where all this...self hatred was coming from. I was...scared. So I didn't question it. After awhile I left my mother's house, ran away with thirty five dollars and a pipe dream."

Beverly sniffed once, looking up from where she and Richie were holding Eddie to glance meaningfully at the others. Almost without meaning to, all five of the other Losers and Georgie shuffled forwards to embrace Eddie. He didn't seem to be afraid of touch like he had been, so they counted that as a victory.

"I...It took eight months for me to get to a point where I could actually think and respond. My mom, she...she had pulled me out of school because of my 'condition', but kept it a secret. I think she might have even been answering letters from you guys, pretending to be me... I...I remember vaguely hearing the phone ring, sometime around the middle of my recovery...I knew it was important, and my mom was away, so I wasn't scared. I spoke into the phone for the first time since the...the surgery, but...it wasn't right, and I couldn't make my mouth fix it to say the right name, and they didn't call again." Soft brown eyes looked up at Richie, not accusing, never accusing, but hurt nonetheless. _"You_ didn't call again."

Richie's heart stuttered to a halt in his chest as he realized in an instant what situation Eddie had been talking about. 

_Eddie and Richie had sworn to write and to call, but Richie knew something was wrong when the letters lost their familiarity, the inside jokes, the little tidbits strewn throughout that made them feel like Eddie was just in the other room instead of on the other side of the nation._

_The calls stopped making Richie feel better; in fact, they made him feel worse._

_They all knew leaving Derry made you forget. It had happened with Bev, years prior. She had gone to Portland with her aunt and then suddenly after a few months it was like she no longer remembered them or what they went through. That was a rough time for all of them._

_But to have to relive it, relive your closest friend slowly forgetting that you existed, only with Eddie? It was too much._

_When Richie answered the phone and heard Eddie say, "Hello, um.....Ronnie?", he had hung up, staring at the receiver in brokenhearted disbelief._

_Eddie had forgotten him, forgotten them._

"You...you didn't forget." Richie breathed in realization, feeling so stupid, so ignorant...he never should have just...given up like he had. Maybe if he had just called again, and hadn't just given into despair like he had...hadn't slipped into a world that revolved around his next high...maybe they could have been something. Maybe Richie would have realized his true feelings sooner.

"I could never. Not on purpose. Not until they made me." Eddie said softly, biting his lip and seeming to struggle with himself for an instant before he leaned up and pressed a shaky kiss to Richie's chin, just below his lips. The dark haired man froze for an instant before a fiery blush overtook his cheeks, a sort of dopey looking grin taking residence on his sharp features.

"I-I, uh...w-wow, Eds, you...I...y-yowza-!" He seemed pleased but unsure of how to react in a way that wouldn't make Eddie freak out somehow, his words embarrassed and tongue tied.

Stan smirked from his place in the group huddle. "Way to go, Eddie, you broke Richie."

Eddie stuck his tongue out at him unrepentantly even as Mike joked, "If I would have known all it would take to shut Richie up was a little kiss on the chin I woulda tried that years ago."

Bill grinned too, Georgie tucked in between himself and Eddie. "Th-that's a yuh-useful tip. Th-thanks, Eds."

Georgie grinned and made kissy noises. "Richie and Eddie sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-P!"

Beverly smiled and reached over to pinch Georgie's cheek lightly. "That's 'K-I-S-S-I-N- _G,_ ' Georgie."

"Whatever, they're lovey dovey is my point." Georgie said with a small huff, before he lost his pout and grinned up at Bev. "Richie's gonna catch cooties!"

Eddie laughed lightly, feeling safe in a way he hadn't in years, with his best friends in the world holding him close.

Richie seemed to regain his voice. "Hey, kiddo, better watch out, because if Eddie's got cooties, you were with him down in the sewers for awhile, you probably caught them yourself!"

Georgie made a disgusted face. "Eeww, gross!!"

Ben smiled warmly at the group's antics, in that moment just so damned thrilled to have all seven of them (plus one) back together again. Sure, the circumstances weren't ideal, but now that they knew the horrors that Eddie had gone through, surely they had faced the worst of it?

If only he knew how wrong he was.

This was only the beginning.


	25. Compel Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan's compulsions and nervous tics start showing from stress. An unlikely Loser helps him get through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance if I portrayed OCD incorrectly, I'm going off information I found online that mentions the possible tics of repeating words over and over and being compelled to perform specific tasks in relation to a possible number they are fixated on. Hopefully nobody minds any inaccuracies. ;)

The night came sooner than they had expected, shadows being cast against the porch even as Richie and Bev had one last smoke before heading their separate ways. 

The Losers had set some ground rules for each other now that they had Henry Bowers to consider as a possible threat. Nobody was allowed to be alone outside of the house, and if they did, everyone needed to know exactly where they were.

Mike had generously offered the house up for them all to stay, as neither Bill nor Bev and Ben wanted to spend the night apart from their lost friends, all the way on the other side of town. As a result, Eddie was to share Mike's bedroom with Beverly and Ben, (Eddie claimed a spot on the floor, he wasn't yet ready to sleep in the same bed with Ben or even Beverly. Old habits ran deep.) Bill was sharing the couch with Georgie while Mike, Stan, and Richie took the living room floor. Mike found an old air mattress in the attic that was supposed to be for Eddie, but he refused to 'hog everything comfortable'. After much insisting, Mike finally agreed to share the air mattress with Stan.

None of them wanted to be the one to explain that Bower's body was missing and his knife had been left under Eddie's pillow like a warning to the man in question. He had finally seemed to calm down, nose firmly pressed into the crook of Richie's neck and looking almost unwilling to move as they slowly got up and began to filter off.

However Richie knew that he couldn't just leave Eddie in the dark. After some cajoling he got Eddie to step into the kitchen with him for a moment, in order to explain what exactly had happened at the Townhouse.

Richie didn't expect Eddie to smile at the news.

"I mean...I should probably be scared, or upset, but...I'm really not. After everything we've gone through...? We can handle Henry Bowers."

The taller man rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, yeah, but I just...I wanted you to know. So you weren't taken by surprise. Or left out."

Eddie smiled a little wider, a little more genuine. "Thanks for not treating me like I'm gonna break, Richie." he said softly, before he stepped out of the kitchen. The comedian watched him go before giving a small smirk and heading over to his patch of carpet in the living room.

"Well, all, I'm pooped. Time for ole Trashmouth to get some trashrest and hit the hay. Or more accurately, the sharp and sticklike carpet that resembles hay."

Mike snorted into his pillow. "Is that supposed to make me feel bad? You once fell asleep on your actual bicycle _while you were riding it._ You were trying to prove to Bill that you could fall asleep anywhere and then you swerved and hit a telephone pole."

Richie gave him a shit eating grin. "And that was the day Benothy learned how to treat a concussion."

Ben walked by, having changed into a pair of sweatpants and a loose hoodie already with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. "Oh, was that when? I thought it was when you headbutted your locker door shut to try and look cool in front of Eddie and it bounced back and hit you in the face."

Richie hummed in thought. "I remember that very differently."

Ben laughed and stepped into the bathroom next to Stan, who seemed to be meticulously folding each piece of clean laundry that Eddie had started earlier, his long fingers quick and sure. He began to brush, glancing over at the curly haired man out of the corner of his eye. Was it just him being overly cautious since Eddie's panic attack..? Or was Stan acting a little...jumpy?

"You okay?" Ben asked tentatively once he had finished spitting out his toothpaste and making sure it was all washed out of the sink.

Stan nodded once shortly, although the speed at which he was folding clothes had increased. 1, 2, 3...next... 1, 2, 3...next... 

Each item of clothing was folded exactly three times. 

Jeans, in half widthwise, then lengthwise, then lengthwise again. 

Shirts, in half lengthwise, then widthwise, then widthwise again.

Sweatshirts and jackets were quickly put on a hanger and then hung up on the clothes rack in the bathroom, clumped in groups of three. There were only six hoodies and sweatshirts hung up, the two remainders were still at the bottom of the laundry basket, and Stan seemed to be picking around them as if unsure where they belonged in his carefully devised system.

Ben frowned a bit and glanced around to see if Bill or Eddie was around, as they and Richie had been friends with Stan the longest.

None of them were.

Ben bit his lip somewhat hesitantly. He longed to try and comfort his friend but wasn't sure how well he could. He didn't have Eddie's ability to comfort people just by listening, he didn't have Bill's quiet confidence and leadership, and he definitely didn't have Richie's jokes or Voices... but he had his heart, and maybe that was enough. 

"Stan...? I know that...you and I haven't really hung out alone with just the two of us that much, but...Mike's got a lot of really nice photo albums downstairs. Looks like he went through a bird phase, because there were three big ones that were mainly just birds...if you wanted to look...? You seem a little stressed...maybe it would...help?"

He kept his tone casual and didn't let too much concern slip into it. Ben knew that Stan was both proud and stubborn, and so he didn't want to offend him by implying that he couldn't take care of himself.

Stan bit his lip and glanced down at the laundry for a moment. "I...that sounds...nice, really, I just..." He glanced meaningfully down at the unfinished load of laundry, the two out of place coats the only items left. One was a deep gray overcoat made of wool, the other was a pale blue jacket that looked like a hand me down from another time. Stan slid them both onto their own hanger and bit his lip in thought, as if unable to simply hang them up and walk away.

He looked wordlessly up at the rack, where the six other sweatshirts, grouped into two groups of three, seemed to be mocking him.

"Th...there aren't enough..." he mumbled to himself. "Two isn't enough...two isn't enough...two isn't enough..." To Stan's growing horror, his eyes were burning slightly with unshed tears, and he felt like an idiot. Who cried over something as stupid as laundry? Although he knew it wasn't just the laundry, it was many different things all leading up to one big blowout. He was still emotionally tired from seeing Eddie's corpse before he was brought back, from haunting the sewers like a ghost of some kind, from reuniting with his friends. And now with the news that Bowers was likely alive and coming after them, and Eddie's breakdown? Stan was _tired._

Like with the coats, he couldn't control their current situation. Stan wanted to be in control, he liked to know what was going on and he wanted everything to follow a pattern. 

But real life wasn't like that.

If only his compulsions would get the memo.

He felt Ben place his hand on his shoulder, and Stan turned to him in shame, his face hot and flushed.

Ben handed him a soft brown hoodie, as if pulling it from nowhere. "You missed one. Three is enough, right?"

Stan took it with a small smile and hung it up so there were now three bundles of three sweatshirts each.

They were nine now.

"Three is enough." Stan agreed softly. "Let's...let's go look at those albums." Stan appreciated Ben's subtle way of assuring him that he was okay more than the other man may ever know.

He didn't comment on the fact that Ben had given him his own hoodie to hang up with the rest despite the fact that it was approaching October and it was getting chillier.

Stan just smiled and made sure Ben got the fluffier blanket when they sat down to peruse Mike's photo albums, the man himself grinning and telling stories about each shot as the night dwindled on and the fire burned lower.


	26. Georgie Denbrough Takes A Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill has no idea how to handle a six year old's temper tantrum. Bev comes to the rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS. We broke 10,000 hits yesterday! Good lord that's absolutely insane!! Thank you guys so much, that's crazy and I can't believe you all *^* Thank you all for the love, it's what inspires me to keep writing! Love you guys!

It didn't take long for Georgie's deceptively good behavior to slowly deteriorate, especially once he was worn out and missing his parents.

It just so happened that the explosion came shortly after Stan and Ben came downstairs, as Bill was trying to get Georgie to take a bath. He was the only one who had yet to clean himself after escaping the sewers and now that the initial excitement of having his little brother back had passed, he didn't want to have to see Georgie constantly covered in mud and grime. He wanted to start making new memories with his little brother that weren't tainted by the clown.

"Cuh-Come on, Georgie, you h-have to tuh-take a buh-bath." Bill murmured in a long suffering tone about half an hour into the attempt. The water had long since gone cold, as Bill had optimistically thought that maybe they would have Georgie washed up and clothed in less than an hour.

The six year old threw his head back and howled. "No! I don't want to! I wanna stay up and play with everyone!"

Bill bit his lip, a bit unsure of how to handle this tantrum. It had been ages since he had been around a child, let alone his own little brother. "Juh-Georgie, you stink l-like suh-sewer and buh-blood, you have t-to take a b-bath-!"

Georgie screamed again, shaking his head. "No no no!"

A tap at the bathroom door cut through the cries. "Is everything alright in there?" Beverly asked, her low voice muffled by the door.

"Y-Yeah, B-Beverly, th-thanks..." Bill said softly, opening the door just a crack. Past him, Bev could spy a disgruntled Georgie tearing his shirt off, throwing it onto the ground, and stomping on it with all the force his tiny body could muster.

"You, uh...got everything under control, there?" she asked curiously, trying to hide a small smile. 

Bill opened his mouth to speak only for a pair of small jeans to land with a faint _'thump'_ over the top of his head. One of the pant legs dangled in his face. "......n-no, not at all."

Beverly smothered a laugh and slipped inside, taking the jeans off Bill's head and dropping them into the laundry basket. Georgie stood there in his boxer shorts, arms crossed over his thin chest and his cheeks were red.

"I don't WANNA! You're not Daddy you can't tell me what to DO!" he screeched, stomping his foot once meaningfully before he sniffled once and burst into angry tears. He dropped to the floor, pounding his small fists on the ground as his tantrum escalated. Bill sighed somewhat wearily and glanced up from the small puddle of wailing child over to Bev.

"He's o-old enough t-to tuh-take a buh-bath by h-himself, he juh-just...th-threw a fit...? Did I d-do suh-something wrong?" he asked over Georgie's whines.

Beverly hummed to herself as if deep in thought. "Well, I mean...the poor kid's got no bath toys." she said finally, snapping her fingers. "A kid's gotta have a few toys so he doesn't get bored, right?"

Bill blinked at her dubiously but then realized that Georgie had stopped howling and was now staring up at her, tears glistening on his face like small diamonds. 

"See? Georgie needs a bath toy. And I bet Big Bill can find you something, right?" Beverly said with a small smile, closing the toilet seat lid and sitting on it. She ruffled Georgie's greasy and dirty hair without the slightest grimace, glancing over to Bill with a wink.

He started once with a surprised look. "Oh, I...y-yeah, I cuh-can...come up w-with something." Bill quickly stepped out of the bathroom and breathed a sigh, before biting his lip and looking around as if the perfect bath toy would just appear before him.

His feet led him downstairs and before he realized it, his eyes had darted over to the mantle of the fireplace.

On top of it rested the answer.

_Perfect._

When Bill came back upstairs, the toy hidden behind his back, Beverly had coaxed Georgie into the tub and was running warm water to heat the bath up again. She stuck her hand under the faucet, her mint green fingernails catching a few droplets on their tips. Neither one of them seemed to notice he was even there.

"Does the water feel hot enough for you, kiddo?" Bev asked, a warm smile on her face as she gently began to rub some shampoo into his hair, careful not to let it drip into his eyes. Bill stopped for a second to just watch the way Beverly acted around Georgie.

He had never really considered Bev as a mother, hadn't considered _any of them_ as parent material, mostly due to the fact that he hadn't remembered them at all for most of the past three decades. But there was something about the way that Bev had seemingly effortlessly stopped Georgie's tantrum and was now doting on him that made Bill sure that no matter who ended up marrying Beverly, she would be a great mother.

Georgie's eyes caught sight of his brother in the doorway and his face lit up. "Did you bring me a bath toy!?" he asked excitedly, water and suds sloshing around as he scrambled over to the side of the tub nearest to Bill.

Bill smiled a sort of sad, distant smile, and pulled the S. S. Georgie out from behind his back. "I sh-sure did, buddy." he said softly, letting the boat slide from his extended fingers into the tub.

The S. S. Georgie bobbed once, wobbling for a moment before it righted itself and remained above water, the ink of the name remaining properly sealed even after all this time.

The little paper boat floated just as well as it had in the gutter of Jackson Street 27 years prior.

Georgie grinned and splashed his hands in the water somewhat excitedly, being careful not to rock the boat. "Thanks, Billy! You're the world's bestest big brother _ever!"_

Bill smiled, a little taken aback, before he stepped forward and began to rinse the shampoo from the six year old's hair. "Th-thanks, Juh-Georgie."

Later that night, when Bill was tucking him in on the couch with a fluffy afghan and a pillow, Georgie looked up at him with a bashful expression.

"Sorry for throwing' a big baby fit, Billy...'m not a baby anymore even though I was actin' like one." he said quietly, looking down at his hands.

Bill laughed and reached over to ruffle Georgie's still wet hair. "Don't wuh-worry about it. You're allowed to buh-be a kid s-still. Yuh-you had a b-big day t-today."

Georgie's face lit up at the fact that he was forgiven and he grinned. "Yeah, it was a _really_ big day, huh? Just wait til you see Mom's face when we get back to our house! She's gonna be so mad I didn't come home on time, I missed dinner and I was supposed ta clean my room an' work on my vocab words-"

Bill froze abruptly, his fingers still stroking his little brother's hair somewhat absentmindedly even as he stared rather intently at the wall. He didn't know how to explain, how to tell a six year old who had been slain and remained dead for almost thirty years that their parents had both passed away already, never again to see their missing baby.

How did you explain a concept like that to a child?

"Juh-Juh-Georgie..." Bill began slowly, tentatively, his voice unnaturally serious.

Georgie picked up on the caution in his tone instantly, glancing up curiously. "What's up, Billy...?"

Those warm hazel eyes seemed to stare right through him, trusting him, and Bill couldn't do it.

He _couldn't_ do it.

His fingers pulled away and he pressed a kiss to the damp brown hair at the crown of Georgie's head. "Get some s-sleep, okay...?"

Georgie grinned and pulled the covers up to his chin even as he chirped, "G'night, Billy!" back at him.

Bill walked out of the living room and spent a long time pondering how to explain that they would never go home together, because their home had been sold shortly after Georgie's corpse was recovered from the sewers, mangled and so achingly small. 

Zack and Sharon Denbrough couldn't bear to live in a house haunted by phantom footsteps of an eternal child, and they saw afterimages of Georgie everywhere they looked.

The pencil marks on the doorframe, lovingly marked with Bill and Georgie's heights up until the last one of Georgie, stuck forever at three feet, six inches. Evidently they felt that Bill had stopped growing at that point too, for no more pencil marks bore his name after that point either.

The bannister that Georgie accidentally cracked when he was trying out Bill's roller skates and lost his balance. He had grabbed the bannister instinctively to catch himself but it wasn't made to bear forty pounds of weight and had splintered.

It was too much for the Denbroughs, and they had left.

How did you explain that the gap Georgie had left in their family could never be filled? That Georgie had left an absence that only now, 27 years later, was finally starting to fade?

...How?


	27. Unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bev tells Ben about Tom and reminisces over what happened before she came to Derry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hit 700 kudos yoU GUYS WHAT. *~*

When Beverly finally made it up to Mike's bedroom, Ben was already in bed, looking unsure.

"I...Is this okay...? I don't want to make you uncomfortable, I can sleep above the covers or on the floor or-"

Eddie piped up from his place tucked into a sleeping bag on the ground. His voice was mumbly and soft, and it sounded as though he was already halfway to sleep. "Mmf...there's space on th' floor..."

Beverly smiled down at him and shook her head. "Thanks, Eds, but there's plenty of room on the bed. You could probably squeeze up here with us if you wanted to."

Eddie yawned softly, and his voice was somewhat hesitant as he replied. "Mmn...m-maybe someday...I hope..." He fell quiet and eventually his breathing slowed down, totally asleep. The stress of all the memories of straight camp coming back all at once had completely worn him out. Ben and Bev both murmured goodnight to him which he returned with a sleepy, "Mmhm..."

Beverly slid into the bed, yawning a bit and giving Ben a small look when he scooted closer to the edge of the bed.

"I don't bite, you know." she teased slightly.

Ben flushed deep red and stammered. "I...sorry, I just didn't want to hog the bed...."

Beverly frowned. "It's a queen, there's plenty of room, Ben. Even if you did hog it, who cares? We're friends, we killed a demon clown a couple days ago! I'd like to think you don't think I would stop being your friend if you're a cover thief."  
Her voice grew questioning towards the end, as though she sincerely hoped Ben didn't think so lowly of her.

Ben's eyes widened and he quickly shook his head. "Wh-what? No! I didn't, I just..." he sighed for a moment and glanced over meaningfully. "When Mike first went to the hospital, before we went into the sewer...you told me about....about your boyfriend. About how he was...just like your father..."

Bev stiffened and remained very still. She knew what she had been trying to say that day, trying to tell Ben about how Tom treated her. Even now the only person she had ever tried to tell was Ben, even though she was unable to come out and say it. "...what about him...?" she asked softly, her mind racing to the night she had finally stormed out, had left Tom and everything that entailed. She remembered packing her bag, her mind whirling with disjointed thoughts of Derry and long forgotten friends and blood that burst from the sink-

Tom had walked in and had just about knocked her out with a solid slap to the face. She remembered him screaming at her, demanding she get back into bed before he whipped the hell out of her. Bev's hand came up to touch her burning cheek and came back red with blood from her nose and in that instant rage flooded through her, a sort of white hot fury that she hadn't felt since the day they had fought Pennywise in the sewers and she had shoved a pipe down It's throat.

Tom was still yelling, reaching for a belt that usually remained hung up in the closet. He was completely oblivious to the shadow that had fallen across Bev's face, the way she backed up until she was against the dresser, hands fumbling behind her until her fingers closed around a large and heavy bottle of perfume.

He remained oblivious even up to the point where she hurled it at his head. 

He stopped being oblivious just in time for the glass bottle to explode into shards soaked in the scent of lavender and white lilies, screaming in a dumbfounded sort of pain even as he stumbled back and stepped in broken glass and the puddle of perfume. 

Tom wasn't oblivious now, but it was too late.

She had stared, shocked for a moment before a laugh had bubbled up out of her like the suds of the champagne bottle they had opened together only a half hour prior. Bev hadn't felt so free or rebellious since the first time she snuck out of the house, back when she was only seven and couldn't take her parent's fighting anymore.

Tom roared up at her, words that didn't matter anymore, _(he didn't matter anymore)_ and all she wanted was to tear the leather belt from its hook and beat the living shit out of him with it for everything he had done to her. For slowly and systematically taking over her life. Friendships were severed, opportunities she would have once pursued were ignored or rejected on his orders.

Tom was the one who got to decide everything she did, everything she was. 

Well, no more.

_No more._

Not again.

"Not ever, _ever_ again!" Bev had screamed, anger twisting her features into something different, someone Tom had never seen before. He had experience with Bevvie, knew her more intimately than almost anyone else, (barring six boys from Maine of course), but he had never met _Bev._

Bev was the one who was fed up with being beaten and emotionally abused at every opportunity.

Bev wanted her life back.

And Bev was the one who took it back by force when she left Tom bleeding on the floor in the apartment and took off with most of her belongings, heading to Maine with only the faintest memories of blood, clowns, and standing in a circle with six boys, their hands intertwined. 

Yes, she had gotten herself out of that awful situation, but it had been started by a phone call. If Mike had never called, if her memories hadn't come back, Bev knew she would have likely stayed with Tom until the day he beat her to death.

Fingers snapped in front of her face and Bev jumped lightly, seeing Ben looking at her with concern in his hazel eyes.

"Y...you with me? You were spacing out for a second there...is everything alright? Sorry, I shouldn't have asked, it's none of my business-"

Bev licked her lips for a second, just the briefest touch of her tongue past her teeth, before her mouth closed with a faint 'click'. "Ben, I...it's okay. Really. I just...it's hard to believe that it was only five days ago that I left him. Stormed off and came here..."

Ben's eyes locked with hers, and for an instant she lost her train of thought. His expression was kind and deliberately gentle as his hand came up- slowly, so she could move away if she wished, and gently cupped her cheek, his thumb very lightly brushing against the faded bruise just below her eye.

"Was this...from him..?" he asked softly. Beverly didn't think she had ever heard Ben Hanscom this quiet before. It was like he thought she was a small animal, something that would be so easily scared away if startled. Perhaps she was; something about the casual intimacy of such a simple gesture was making her heart flutter in her chest. 

Bev reached up to place her hand over his, feeling the warmth there, and in that instant she knew she trusted him. A part of her always had.

".....yes." she breathed, and that was when the tears started to run down her cheeks. She blinked them away and more took their place; small, choked noises escaping her.

It was like every emotion she had been holding back for years had suddenly and simultaneously burst forth from her chest all at once. She sobbed in grief, in joy, in fear for the future. And through it all, Ben held her, cautiously offering himself to her as a sympathetic ear, a comfort; anything she needed, he was there for her. That kind of unconditional love was so rare, so special, that Bev couldn't help but feel lucky that she had gotten garbage dumped on her that day all those many years ago. If not for Greta and her minions, she would have left school on time that day. She would have walked right past the best man she had ever had the pleasure to meet, shuffling a school project in one hand and a CD player in the other while he carried his empty yearbook home.

And as Bev sobbed herself to sleep entangled in Ben Hanscom's arms, she thought to herself that she had never cared about someone as desperately and intensely as the way that she cared about him.


	28. The Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill has a nightmare and then tries to discuss what's going on between them with Stan. It goes poorly.

_He was running._

_He didn't know where or why, but he was running along the Kenduskeag river through the Barrens, brambles and branches snatching at his clothing. He felt leaves and foliage whipping him in the face but he kept running, couldn't afford to stop. There was a paper boat in the river, bobbing gently as the current dragged it along. He had to catch it before it disappeared forever...!_

_He was catching up slowly, but then suddenly he heard a stick snap behind him followed by the stomping sounds of something massive and he realized he wasn't just running towards the boat- something was **chasing** him. _

_And it was getting closer, much closer much too quickly-_

_He ran faster, as fast as his thirteen year old legs could carry him, ducking under low hanging branches and leaping over lopsided stones. He heard a roar behind him and could feel hot panting exhales against his back, could feel sticky saliva splattering against the back of his neck, it was closing in on him, closer and closer-_

_He stumbled and nearly fell, slipping from the bank and into the shallow part of the river just as the little paper boat floated past._

_His fingers plucked the boat from the water, and he heard whispers pouring from within, not with his ears, but with his heart-_

_"-take a lot t-"_

_"-shh, no it's okay, sweetie, don't cry-"_

_"-lways loved you, even-"_

_"-chie, It's dying, where are you?! Where ar-"_

_"-hink it would be best for us to go our separate ways-"_

_"-two isn't enough, two isn't-"_

_"-pare inhaler somewhere, hur-"_

_"-ver going to go home, are we-"_

_It was his family, the Losers, and he had the strangest feeling that the things they were whispering hadn't happened yet, were snippets out of time, not of the past or the future but somewhere stuck in between._

_Whatever was chasing him stepped out of the bushes to reveal itself, a shapeless form composed of darkness and pure evil, and he let out a low moan as the boat crumbled to dust in his fingers as if unable to remain in the presence of something so terrible. The wind caught the scraps and scattered them even as his friends fell silent forever._

_"No!"_

Bill shot awake with a gasp, covering his mouth quickly to stop from waking anyone up. He looked down at the other end of the couch and saw Georgie peacefully bundled up in a blanket, not even stirring at Bill's violent awakening.

He glanced down to the floor where Richie lay sprawled out in a faded green Whitesnake shirt and the ugliest sweatpants Bill had ever laid eyes on. They were purple plaid with gray and black squares and were just a god awful eyesore when matched with his highlighter yellow socks and green shirt. Richie had always been a bit of a wild card when it came to fashion sense.

Mike was also sleeping soundly on the air mattress, his breathing a little labored; likely from having to sleep on his back to avoid putting pressure on his injury. Bill frowned, however, as he noticed that Stan's side of the air mattress was empty, the blankets folded meticulously on that half. Looking up, he spotted light shining out from underneath the kitchen door.

He slipped off the couch silently and crept past Richie and Mike, trying not to wake them up. A bleary glance at his watch confirmed it was only 5:40 in the morning, much too early for them to be awoken considering they didn't all fall asleep until way past midnight.

He stepped into the kitchen and blinked as he spotted Stan at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in his hand and a furrow in his brow as he stared down at the newspaper's sudoku puzzle of the day. His pen darted across the puzzle quickly, his tongue poking slightly from in between his lips as he concentrated.

Bill was suddenly hit by a memory of Stan when they were only kids, when he had first been diagnosed with OCD.

_Stan held the piece of paper close to his face, scanning it quickly before giving a small nod, a ghost of a smile on his face._

_Bill had blinked, wondering why Stan seemed so pleased with the diagnosis. "St-Stan, I'm guh-glad you're n-not suh-sad, b-but...whuh-why are you suh-so happy a-about this...?"_

_Stan had carefully folded the paper exactly three times and tucked it into his pocket for safekeeping. "Because...I always felt like something was wrong with me, that I was the only person in the world who had all these weird hang ups and traditions and to hear that I'm not alone, that this is something that other people deal with, too...it's freeing, in a sense. Plus OCD has three letters, so it doesn't feel wrong to me." he said with a half smile._

_Bill hadn't totally understood that day but he grinned and nodded anyways, pleased that Stan was apparently coping well._

Now to see him scanning the sudoku puzzle Bill realized why it must appeal to him: it was a puzzle based around a multiple of three. Nine numbers in each row, column, and box. It was a logic puzzle of categorization based on one of Stan's fixations. It was so utterly perfect for him that Bill wondered how long it had taken him to discover the game in the first place.

"P-Pen, Stan? Really?" He teased lightly as he stepped over to the coffeepot to pour himself a drink. Stan looked up for a moment and gave a small smile.

"Of course in pen. Did you sleep well?" he asked, attention returning to the box in front of him. He scribbled in a nine almost lazily before he bit his lip and realized there was already a nine in that row.

Bill sat down across from Stan with his cup of coffee, stirring in some hazelnut creamer he had uncovered in the fridge. "Um. Yuh-Yeah, I suh-s-slept alr-ruh-right."

Stan looked up with an unimpressed expression, arching an eyebrow. "You know you stutter more when you're lying, right?" His pen scribbled an eight over the nine, effectively replacing it. 

Bill's cheeks went red and he sipped his coffee for a long moment. "N-no I duh-duh-d.... _fuck."_ he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "H-Huh-How long have y-you noticed th-that..?"

Stan smiled softly as he continued to work on his puzzle, his long fingers sure and deliberate as each box was filled in. "Since forever, dummy. I know you. It's not exactly a subtle tell."

Bill blinked and smiled too, wondering where this strange fluttery sensation in his chest was coming from. A part of him desperately wanted to address the elephant in the room, but he knew Stan wouldn't. Still, it was worth a try. "Y-You know m-more about muh-me than you puh-probably s-should."

Stan went very still and set down his pen. 

"Do we really have to talk about this now?" Stan asked finally, looking up at him. His expression was carefully blank but Bill could see the faintest glimmer of some kind of storm reflected in those warm brown eyes.

Bill took another sip of his coffee, setting the mug down and using a napkin to wipe away the faint ring it left on Mike's table. "I...I think that we shuh-should."

Stan fidgeted for a second, biting his lip, before he scooted the newspaper and pen away and folded his hands on the table. "Okay, so talk." 

Bill frowned slightly. This isn't how he wanted this to go, with Stan being defensive from the very start. Had he done something wrong, said something that had caused him to raise his hackles? "Alr-ruh-right, I w-will. I know that you're b-bisexual. Suh-So am I."

Stan's expression didn't change, but his hands clenched around the coffee mug as though it would protect him from this conversation. "....get to the point, Bill."

Bill sighed heavily, pushing himself back from the table and crossing his arms over his chest. He didn't understand why the younger of the two was behaving so coldly all of a sudden. Weren't they friends? Didn't they just reunite after a horrible event? They should be closer than ever, not passively aggressively bickering at the dinner table. "Suh-Stan, why a-are you acting l-like this?"

The other man narrowed his eyes, setting the mug down with a bit too much force. "Acting like what? I'm not acting any different than usual." he said with a frown, giving Bill a cold glance before turning his attention back to the newspaper, the pen dancing in his long fingers.

Bill took in a long breath through his nose, not wanting to snap but having trouble keeping his temper in check fully. "Okay, f-fine. We d-don't huh-have to t-talk about it s-since y-you cuh-clearly don't want to."

Stan slammed the pen back down on the table and his eyes shot to Bill's, angry brown meeting steely blue. "Talk? Talk about _what,_ Bill? There's nothing to talk about!" 

And that stung, because Bill knew he wasn't just imagining the sparks between them, the way that the kiss in the hospital had felt. It was like a homecoming, like everything in his life abruptly and suddenly made sense for just a moment. Of course he had thought of Audra, but...he just couldn't hold himself back. Stan had been his first love before he even knew what love was, and his parents had ruined any chances of them finding out what was going on between them by packing Bill up and fleeing Derry.

Stan wouldn't meet his eyes for a moment and Bill knew he was thinking the same thing.

"N-Nothing to t-talk about? Bullsh-shit!" Bill spat, standing up and not even sparing a second glance at the way he had knocked over his coffee. "Let's tuh-talk about th-the kiss! Th-the cuh-cuddling! The w-way I c-catch you staring at me whuh-when yuh-you think I'm n-not looking, and th-the way y-you look juh-jealous wh-whenever I muh-mention Audra!"

Stan stood as well, eyes blazing with fury. "Oh, yeah? I'm jealous? Well I must not have been giving you any 'jealous looks' lately because you haven't even _mentioned_ Audra since we came back! Do you even care that she's in the hospital?"

Bill sputtered for a moment angrily. "Of cuh-course I c-care! I love her!"

Stan spread his arms out wide in outrage. "How can you love her if you want to screw around with other people behind her back?"

Bill stepped forward, teeth clenched together. "Y-you listen to me, Stan! Just because I have feelings for you too doesn't mean that I love her any less!"

Stan opened his mouth to protest but clamped it shut as Richie walked in, a greeting on his lips that faded as he spotted the spilled coffee, the red faces, and the way Stan and Bill were glaring at each other.

"Morning, fuckers! How's- oh. Um. Wow, this is super awkward. Lover's spat?" Richie asked, leaning against the chair.

"Piss off, Richie. He's all yours." Stan snapped, gathering up the newspaper, his pen, and his coffee, before heading out of the room. "I was just leaving anyways."

Bill sighed heavily and cupped his face in his hands as he sat back down. "Goddamnit."

Richie bit his lip and glanced from Stan's retreating back to Bill and shook his head. "Lemme go pop in my contacts real quick and you can tell Uncle Rich all about it, eh?"

Bill bit his lip and reached for a rag to start to mop up the spilled coffee. "I-I was o-out of line. H-He said I-I didn't l-love Audra b-because I luh-l-love him, t-too..."

Richie didn't seem surprised by this declaration, but what he said next made Bill pause. 

"Well, uh...you do know you're allowed to love more than one person at once, right? I mean, hell, I used to have a crush on you, Eddie, and Stan at the same time back in the day."

Bill blinked for a moment in surprise. "Wh...what?"

Richie threw his hands up defensively. "Don't worry, Bill, that ship has sailed, you don't have to worry about me sneaking into your bed at night, your virtue is safe from m-"

"-no, nuh-not that. The...the loving more th-than one puh-person thing."

Richie blinked. "Polyamory. What about it?"

Bill frowned. "I...I duh-didn't know...th-that was a th-thing."

Richie placed his hand on Bill's shoulder and grinned. "Oh, Billy my boy, don't you know? Everything is a thing. There are people in this beautiful world that fuck toasters for crying out loud. Having the hots for Audra and Stanthony at the same time hardly makes you a bad person."

Bill gaped at him as Richie shot him a salute and headed to the bathroom, trying not to bump into things as he went. He was seriously blind without his contacts.

Bill finished cleaning up the mess and mouthed the word under his breath. 

Polyamory. 

Polyamory. 

Polyamory.

Could it really be that simple?


	29. Heal Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie has a very unpleasant surprise in the bathroom. Eddie comes to the rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Happy Winter Themed Nondenominational Holiday to everyone who celebrates! I will be taking Christmas Day off to celebrate with my family so unfortunately there won't be a chapter upload tomorrow, but I'll hopefully be back the 26th. Thanks guys!

Richie hummed idly as he passed Mike's bedroom, spying Ben making the bed while Beverly seemed to be digging through her bag for a pair of clean clothes. Eddie was up too, rolling his sleeping bag up into a tight little ball. Richie took a quick admiring peek of his ass, before he shook his head a bit to clear it and stepped into the bathroom. He was a little ashamed of himself for eyeing Eddie up.

"Get your shit together, Tozier, he's not a piece of meat-" he muttered under his breath as he idly grabbed his contact case from its place on the counter and unscrewed the lid on the left one. With a practiced motion he tugged his eyelid down and slid the contact onto the fingertip of his other hand and popped it in, blinking twice to get it to settle in place. He took a second to smirk at the dizzying feeling of having perfect vision in one eye and a blur of miscellaneous colors in the other, before putting in the second contact. 

Richie blinked to get that one to settle and frowned as it refused to go into place, reaching up to adjust it, and then-

-hot agony, sharp and stinging in both eyes like red hot needles had pierced straight into them.

He gave a startled shriek and clawed at his eyes, trying to dislodge his contacts, but it was like they had mysteriously gone missing. His eyes were flooding with tears in vain to remove the source of his pain, but he couldn't fucking find them-!

"Fuck fuck fuck FUCK-!" he hissed, knocking a few bottles of Bev's perfume and Mike's cologne into the sink by accident as he stumbled, fingers desperately lifting the lid of his right eye and fumbling for the contact. 

He couldn't find it, he couldn't make it fucking _stop-!_

"Richie?!" a voice called, and then the door was being forced open.

Eddie burst into the room and was at his side in an instant, eyes wide as he tried to figure out what was wrong.

"M-My..! My fucking contacts-!" Richie choked out, Eddie pushing past his raised arms to get to his face. He felt Eddie's fingers, delicate and sure as they tried to slip the contacts out- and then-

"It...it stopped. You got them both? Th-Thanks." Richie breathed a sigh of relief as he blinked down at Eddie, only to see his now blurred face take on a look of almost horror. "Eds, what's wro-"

"I-I couldn't find either of them...n-not _one-!"_ His eyes were wide and scared, and he looked down at his fingertips as if hoping the contacts would reappear. "It...it doesn't hurt still, does it?" Eddie breathed, looking up at him with concern.

Richie blinked the tears away, rubbed his eyes with his shirt sleeves and opened them experimentally. He couldn't feel his contacts lost in his eye somewhere and the pain was gone. He still couldn't see, but it was as if he had never put his contacts in at all.

Richie's gaze landed on Eddie's face, his flushed cheeks, his nervous murmuring, the way he was still gently trying to get a closer look at his eyes. He swallowed once, having to see Eddie's beautiful brown eyes up close. He could almost count the freckles along his nose and he could feel the warmth from Eddie's nervous breaths on his face.

"I-I think they're gone....somehow..." Eddie murmured softly, wetting his lips with a flustered sort of look and he glanced away. "I...think you're okay. I, um. I hope you have a spare pair of glasses?"

Richie seemed to follow Eddie forwards as he leaned back, biting his lip in frustration for the intensity he felt whenever he was around the shorter man. "I haven't worn glasses in years. I got other contacts with me, but I don't really want to risk it after...this." He said softly, gesturing to Eddie and himself almost vaguely.

Eddie nodded and frowned a bit, turning as suddenly Mike and Stan appeared in the doorway. 

"What happened?" Mike demanded, looking concernedly from him to Richie.

Eddie raised his arms in a shrug almost desperately, a helpless sort of laugh on his lips. "I-his contacts. They...something happened."

Richie finished examining his eyes in the mirror and turned to them with an exasperated sigh. "Morning fellas. What's the rush?"

Stan made an incredulous face. "Are you kidding me? You were screaming all down the hallway! What's wrong? Are you alright?"

Mike glanced from Richie to Stan to Eddie pointedly. Richie rubbed the back of his neck almost embarrassedly. "Oh that was just Eds getting to fifth base with me. Orbital is the new anal, doncha know?"

Eddie scowled and smacked him in the arm. "Beep beep, Dick."

Richie grinned and waggled his eyebrows at him. "Aw, c'mon, Eddison, that was too early to pull out the only nickname based on my name that you have!"

Mike glanced amusedly over at Stan and Ben who had walked by and paused to observe this mini teasing fight.

"Oh, I can come up with plenty of nicknames based off your name!" Eddie griped hotly, flicking Richie's hand away when it came up to try and pinch his cheek. The taller of the two beamed down at him.

"Ooh, that sounded sincere, too! C'mon, Edster. Impress me." He flicked his lips into an easy smirk, a playful sort of challenge evident in his demeanor. 

Eddie balked for a second, hesitating before whatever he had been about to say could burst past his lips. ".....I..." he flushed deep red for a second and turned away, as if only now realizing how close and intimate he had been acting with Richie up to this point. He stepped back almost instantly, clearing his throat and purposefully not meeting anyone's eyes.

"I...um. I'm going to go get dressed." He mumbled softly, scooting past Mike and Stan and being very careful not to brush against either of them. They turned to watch him go sadly, Richie looking almost crestfallen in the direction of Eddie's retreating back.

"God, I'm so stupid." Richie breathed under his breath softly as he looked over at Stan and Mike.


	30. Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan, Richie, and Mike have a necessary conversation about Eddie and his relapse, the past, and the future. Mike surprises Richie with a gift from below, and Eddie makes a discovery inside Richie's overnight bag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back from my small hiatus, not sure when I'll have the next chapter out but hopefully tomorrow as planned! Thanks for reading guys! :)

Richie stared after Eddie's retreating form for a moment before he sighed. "Damn it, I shouldn't have said anything like that. I freaked him out."

Stan sighed and placed his hand on the taller man's shoulder. "It'll be alright. Old habits, you know? He's gonna get through it, just give him time."

Richie nodded but seemed unconvinced, glancing to the side and heaving in a frustrated breath. "I can't believe this had to happen to him. Of all of us, I mean, not that Eds is weaker or anything, he's just...a ball of fuckin' sunshine and I hate that it had to happen to him. Goddamnit, I _hate_ Sonia, too."

Mike swallowed once and glanced at Richie. "I think if we can slowly help Eddie realize that there's no punishment for acting on his feelings that maybe he'll get through this quicker. He's unsure, he's been taught that anything too intimate will result in pain."

Richie growled low in his throat, glaring at nothing. Without his glasses he could barely see Mike and Stan as more than one cream and one cocoa colored blob, but he still managed to at least point himself in the right direction when he spoke again. "So what do you think we should _do?"_

Stan frowned. "Honestly? I think you should just act like nothing has changed. Eddie wouldn't want you to coddle him. Once he realizes flirting is just what you do he might get more comfortable with it."

Richie frowned as he began to flick through the clean laundry and grabbed a shirt and jeans from the bottom, upending the meticulously folded stack. He ignored Stan's groan of disbelief and began to shed his nightclothes, unconcerned with modesty as he changed right in front of them. "Yeah, but what if I just freak him out more? This has gotta be a scary situation. Bowers is out there somewhere and we have no idea where, and he left his damn knife under Eddie's pillow, for Christ's sakes! That sure as hell seems like a threat to me!"

Stan finally pushed past him to fix the stack of clothes, seeming intent on his new task. "We'll all do our best to protect Eddie _and_ each other."

Richie waved a hand in front of his own face incredulously. "Oh yeah? How am I going to be able to do that? I can't fucking see anything. If I was out in public right now I'd be offering to buy Stan a drink and see if I could get lucky."

Stan scoffed but Mike looked thoughtful for a second.

"I...just a second, I have something-" he disappeared into his bedroom, rifling through the nightstand for a moment before he came up with a pair of old, clunky black glasses, the frames seeming to be held together with scotch tape and a prayer. He offered them over to Richie, who took the glasses with wide eyes.

"Mike...these...these are... these are _my_ glasses, how did you-" His long fingers traced the bottom of the left lens, just above the frame itself, where a long spiderweb crack had formed. 

Stan stood up, glancing over at Mike with his arms crossed. "You took a pair of his old glasses? When? Why?"

Richie's thumbnail scratched lightly at an old smear of something grimy from the frame, before he looked up at Mike with wide and unnaturally serious eyes. "He got them from in the sewer."

Stan gasped once, fixing Mike with an incredulous expression. "What the hell is he talking about, Mike?"

Richie turned on the sink and ran the water over his glasses, snagging the front of Mike's shirt to use to dry them. "Remember when we went down to kill Pennywise the first time? It made Eddie trip into the sewage, and then there were a bunch of heads floating in the water. He freaked out, dropped his flashlight, and I tripped over the damn thing. Lost my glasses, but there wasn't time to look."

Stan looked mortified. "You mean that whole time you were stumbling around the sewers and you couldn't even _see?"_ He could almost picture the scene in his mind, could picture a tinier Richie squinting frantically but still barely able to tell which of his friends was which, let alone if the clown decided to attack them. Saw him clinging to the back of Eddie's shirt not for comfort like Stan had initially thought, but so he knew what direction to walk in. And then he picked up on something else Richie had said. "What the hell do you mean, 'you didn't have time to find them'? We needed everyone to be at the top of their game down there, if you couldn't _see,_ if someone was expecting you to watch their back and you couldn't see!? Damn it, Richie, that was irresponsible of you!" 

Richie flinched violently, turning to Stan with his glasses on. The lenses didn't magnify his eyes quite the same way as they had when he was a child, but the effect still made it look like he was staring right through Stan.

"You don't know what you're talking about. We were looking for _you!_ There wasn't time to stop and find my stupid fucking glasses." And oh, now Stan understands. His heart sinks as he realizes that Richie had been in such a rush to find him when the painting lady had dragged him away that he hadn't even bothered to look for his glasses. He knew that Wentworth would have beaten him black and blue for losing yet another pair of glasses, not to mention the disadvantage Richie would have been in, the large target that removing his vision had placed on his back. He made himself easy pickings for the clown. And he had come after Stan anyways.

Shame crept up the back of his throat as Stan realized that upon being rescued, what had he yelled at the other Losers? At Richie? 

_"You left me! You left me behind, you're not my friends!"_

He vaguely remembered seeing Richie's face fall, just like it was now.

Stan swallowed once, opening his mouth to reply. "I-I'm sorry..."

Richie said nothing and glanced away, rubbing at his own arm awkwardly. There were some things you just didn't bring up, like the way his old glasses miraculously seemed to have the same prescription as his pair back at home in Beverly Hills.

Then something else occurred to Stan. "M-Mike? You went back down in the sewers just to get his glasses? Are you nuts!?"

Mike blinked and gave a small sigh. "I was...pretty sure that it was asleep."

Stan felt his stomach twist uncomfortably at his words and at the realization that Mike had been in the same place he had been mentally right before he tried to kill himself. The thought of Mike, or any of the other Losers feeling like that almost made Stan feel physically ill.

"O...oh, Mike, I'm so sorry...." he mumbled, feeling less than worthless. The librarian gave a small smile and placed his hand on Stan's shoulder. 

"It's all right. I'm in a good place now. Even better, with everyone here with us now." he admitted.

The door nudged open a little as Eddie somewhat awkwardly poked his head back in. "Um...Richie? I...do you think I could borrow some of your clothes today? I haven't had a chance to go back to the Townhouse and get my things..." he looked purposefully at the ground and deliberately didn't look at anyone directly. It was like he was guarded, waiting for one of them to punish him.

Stan glanced at Richie and flicked his eyes meaningfully in Eddie's direction. Richie coughed into his fist and nodded.

"O-Oh, sure, no problem, Spaghetti Man. My bag's in the living room, just dig through it and wear whatever you want, okay?"

Eddie swallowed once before he broke out into a small, cautious smile. "Thanks, Rich." he murmured, before disappearing down the hall to go search for the day's outfit.

Stan turned to Richie in surprise and nodded proudly. "Well done, that was perfect."

Richie smirked. "Of course it was, I always know the right words to say."

Stan made a noise of exasperation. "You always know _words_ to say, Richie, but they're not necessarily the _right_ words."

Mike laughed. "He's got you there, Rich."

The comedian scoffed and turned up his nose. "Jealous, each and every one of you. Hmph."

* * *

Eddie stepped down the stairs slowly, passing Ben on his way up and walking behind Bill on his way down. 

"Morning, Eds." Ben greeted.

Eddie nodded and gave a small smile. "Hey, Ben. Sleep okay?"

The sandy blonde architect hesitated but gave a uneasy nod. "Yeah, I slept....okay, I guess."

Eddie frowned, hesitating on the stairs. "Did you have a nightmare or something...?"

Ben glanced to the side and sighed. "You could call it that. It was just...this feeling of uneasiness. Like something is coming, and quickly."

Eddie gulped at that somewhat ominous dream. "That's not a good sign...after what happened with Richie's contacts I'm a little worried about us. Something strange is happening, I think."

Ben arched an eyebrow. "Stranger than you, Stan, and Georgie coming back to life?"

Eddie frowned, biting his lip idly. "I.....yes, I think so." And with that, he finished coming downstairs, picking up Richie' overnight bag and heading into the downstairs bathroom.

He set it on the sink and unzipped it, breathing in the faint scent of Richie. It smelled like his body wash, like cigarettes, sweet and cloying. Something sugary and musky like honey and sex.

Eddie flushed red and began to gently paw through Richie's clothes. Now that he knew where these feelings were coming from, why he felt like he couldn't interact with men, it was becoming a little easier to think around them.

Perhaps it didn't make him evil to enjoy the smell of his childhood best friend. 

With that thought firmly in mind, Eddie lifted a shirt to his nose and inhaled deeply, his eyes falling shut at the smell. It smelled of safety, like comfort and warmth.

Home smelled like stale cigarettes and the faint lingering scent of pure Richie.

He glanced around for a second, feeling paranoid, before relaxing. It was really true...he do could, say, and act however he pleased and that didn't make him bad, or evil. It just made him human. Eddie blinked in surprise as lifting a pair of sweatpants from the bag caused a photo to flutter to the ground, picture side down. Scrawled on the back in Richie's familiar handwriting were the words 'Alex XOXO <3' 

He frowned and squatted down to pick it up, flipping the photo around and freezing as he stared at what seemed to be an incredibly lewd photo of Richie and a man that looked _strikingly_ similar to himself engaging in sexual acts. He saw his lookalike was crouched sensually in front of Richie, completely naked, with his best friend's erection in his mouth and a smirk on his lips. The photo seemed to have been taken by the comedian himself, as his familiar long fingers that as a child's were always linked with his- those same long fingers were entangled in Eddie's- no, _Alex's-_ brown locks, pushing his head down.

Eddie felt his face grow hot and felt himself gag once before he looked away, clapping a hand firmly over his own mouth. No, he wasn't _There_ anymore, he could do as he pleased, he wasn't going to get shocked for looking-

-he opened his eyes again, not even realizing he had closed them instinctively.

Why did this photo bother him so much? Because it was his best friend clearly engaging in homosexual acts with another man? He didn't care about that, honestly.

...Was it because the other man looked just like Eddie?

...Or...

Eddie's face grew very red as this last thought ran through his head, and he had to sit down for a moment.

Was he upset because the man looked like him but wasn't? Did he... _wish_ that it could be him, in that situation? Did Richie? There was no denying the man in the photo, this 'Alex', was a dead ringer for Eddie. Surely Richie wouldn't sleep with someone he didn't think was in any way attractive, right..?

Eddie's cheeks blazed with heat.

Did....did _Richie_ think he was attractive? 

He didn't have the answers to those questions, but Eddie did have the photograph. And he wasn't planning on giving it back yet for reasons he wouldn't or couldn't admit to himself. He just slipped it into his pocket and carried on with his morning routine. With any luck, Richie wouldn't notice it missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, for those who are wondering, the 'Alex' in the picture is meant to be Alex Riley, a character whose child version was played by Jack Dylan Grazer in Me, Myself, and I. The version of the character that appears in this story is meant to be around age twenty six in the photo and is loosely described as being a look alike for Eddie purely for plot related reasons. I do not condone the sexualization of minors, so this is meant to be more the adult version than anything else. He will not be making an appearance except possibly for flashbacks or references to a past relationship with Richie. Now that that's settled...hope you enjoyed the story. ;)


	31. The Rise of Beverly Marsh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beverly comes clean to the rest of the Losers about her past relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna start out by saying I hated writing this chapter. XD It wasn't easy to write and feels very detached and not nearly as emotional as I had originally envisioned it. However, all three of my betas (Jane, Em and Gill, love you all! <3) said they loved it so we're trusting their judgment here. :| Trigger warning for references to canonical spousal abuse.

Beverly hummed to herself, feeling somewhat twitchy and unsure of why. Spending last night purging herself of most of her tears upon Ben's chest had emboldened her to the point where she wanted to talk about her past with Tom with the rest of her friends. She felt lighter and strangely confident, like she could and should tell them everything.

The only people who wouldn't be present were Ben due to already knowing and Georgie, who was slightly too young to hear of such things. The rest of the Losers she casually invited to join her for coffee throughout the morning activities, in between showers and dressing and sprucing up briefly in the mirror. Soon enough, everyone barring Ben and Georgie had gathered in the parlor around the small coffee table, in various states of awareness. When Bev stood, they all wordlessly glanced her way, seeming to understand this was no mere coffee social.

"I, uh. I wanted to talk to you all about....my past. What led me here. My boyfriend...Tom Rogan, he...." she swallowed once, feeling five pairs of eyes on her. The casual relaxed mood seemed to evaporate, replaced by a quiet nervousness at the ominous turn the morning coffee had taken.

Stan sat up straighter, his hands clenched firmly around his coffee mug. Mike had a serious expression on his face, biting his lip and glancing at Bill and then the door where Ben and Georgie were at. Richie was sitting next to Eddie, who had since changed into one of Richie's band shirts and a pair of sweatpants, rolled up twice. He fidgeted lightly in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs, before freezing when he felt Bill's eyes flick from Beverly over to him.

Bev thinned her lips and tightened her resolve, holding her head high. 

"Tom was abusive. He was an abusive, controlling asshole, and I had to beat the shit out of him just to get out of the apartment alive once he saw I had packed my bags. He's the one who gave me this bruise." She gestured to her cheek, biting her lip before releasing it with a slow huff. Now that the words were out there, now that she had spoken it aloud, she felt...free. It didn't matter where Tom was right now or what he was doing. He couldn't hurt her. Not anymore.

Bill looked stunned, and hurt, his lips opening and closing several times before he seemed to settle on something he could say. "B-Bev, I-I'm suh-so sorr...suh.. sorry..." he stuttered softly, looking to be completely devastated. Stan likewise appeared like he was shocked, and furious on her behalf. His hands clenched around his mug of coffee hard enough that Bev worried it would shatter in his hands.

Richie swore, throwing the donut he had grabbed from the corner store only twenty minutes prior onto the table and sending frosting scattering. "Son of a bitch!"

Eddie merely gaped at Bev, eyes wide. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth and looked around the table for each Loser's reaction, seeming unsure what he could do or say to make this better.

Mike sighed wearily and covered his mouth with a hand. In that moment he looked older than any of them had ever seen Mike, the grey in his hair a testament to the trials he had gone through. "Bev...." He stood slowly and fixed her with a look, as if trying to gauge how okay she was with a glance. "You're alright...?" he asked instead, not just referring to her physical condition. He seemed hesitant to touch her where he wasn't yesterday, as if she would break, and Beverly wasn't having any of that.

She smiled proudly, hands tucked into her jean pockets and her expression relaxed. "I'm okay now, I think. I'm good. Being with you guys, feeling what love is supposed to feel like...it makes me stronger. And it makes me realize I can do anything, especially leave Tom Rogan."

Eddie found himself wishing he was half as brave as Beverly, and then did a mental double take. He was happy with Myra...right? Well, maybe not...Maybe he should consider talking to her about taking a break, or a short term separation...surely with his friend's help, they wouldn't mind helping him through it? 

But where was this thought coming from? Only yesterday he was content to suffer through his marriage with Myra for as long as he had to, whereas now, he was feeling determined to try and do something to make himself happy. He made a mental note to revisit this idea later; right now, it was about comforting Beverly.

Stan stood up and pulled Bev into a tight hug, his arms strong and warm around her shoulders. It was a striking height difference from when they were twelve. "I'm so proud of you for leaving." he said finally, his voice soft but calm. Mike and Bill quickly stood up to join in the hug, but Rich still looked murderous and Eddie just seemed stunned and slightly lost. How could something like this have happened to Beverly? _Their_ Beverly?

"Where is this guy? This Tom Rogan fucker?" Richie asked lowly, glancing over at her even as he joined the group hug as well, towering over mostly everyone except for Mike who was just as tall as him. His tone was low but his voice itself was easy and innocent, as though he had just asked how the weather was or to borrow a dollar. Beverly wasn't fooled for a second, she knew him too well, and she turned to Richie in an instant.

"Far away from here, Rich. No need for you to get all overprotective, I'm fine and he's history, okay?" Here, in the comfort of a group hug, surrounded by her closest friends, Bev felt like she was strong enough to do anything. Tom couldn't get her here.

Richie huffed a bit irritably but let the matter drop. "Sorry, Bevvie. Not trying to get all...whatever, I know you can kick ass and take care of yourself. I just wanna smash this fucker's face in for treating you like shit for years and-"

Beverly cut him off, laying a gentle hand on his arm. "It's fine. Okay? Listen to me, Richie. I didn't tell you all so you could follow me around and be my pack of bodyguards, okay? I can handle myself. I just...I wanted to be honest with you guys, and to finally admit it to someone else. To people who matter to me."

Richie's expression softened. "Hey, Bev, I'm sorry, I just....you're so strong, and I just...I don't like to see people take advantage of the ones I care about." His eyes darted to Eddie for an instant before looking back at Bev, and she realized that while Richie was still concerned for her, a part of him had become fixated on the comparisons between Bev and Tom to Eddie and Myra. 

She glanced Eddie's way and noticed how he seemed to be deep in thought, biting his lip before he surged to his feet and embraced her tightly. "B-Bev-!" he whispered, his touch gentle. "I'm so sorry." His hold was tight but careful and Bev wrapped her own arms around his heaving shoulders in response. "He shouldn't have treated you like that. He should have been what he was supposed to be. A good man. A good boyfriend. I'm sorry that...I'm sorry he wasn't what he was supposed to be to you." he mumbled softly. In a way, he felt a strange sort of parallel between himself and Tom. He knew he was a bad husband to Myra, knew that from their honeymoon when he had tugged the two twin beds in the hotel room apart and hadn't touched her the entire night. Myra didn't mind, of course, she was concerned about keeping her hair neat and tidy for the honeymoon pictures they were to take the following day. 

Some bad husbands beat on their girls, it seemed, while others didn't pay them enough attention at all. 

Eddie found himself wondering which crime was worse.

"Eddie..." she murmured into his shoulder. "I'm all right. _It's_ all right. He's gone, we're done, and I'm okay, now." Even as she hugged him, her mind raced. Richie had mentioned something to her in passing this morning while she was waiting her turn for the shower, something about overhearing a call with Myra and something about the way she treated Eddie like a dog. He hadn't had time to elaborate then as Eddie had stepped out of the bathroom, hair wet and smelling of sweet shampoo and clean linens. He was wearing Richie's clothes again, and Richie's eyes seemed permanently magnetized to the shorter man whenever he was in the room. Bev wanted to know the rest of the story, wanted to know what Richie had been alluding to earlier, and she knew the perfect way to get him alone for a minute.

"Hey, Rich, wanna step out and have a smoke with me?" she asked, extracting herself from Eddie's embrace slowly. He looked embarrassed, wiping his face with the sleeve of Richie's shirt somewhat sheepishly and looking away. 

Richie blinked in surprise before he shrugged, patting Eddie on the arm as he too disentangled himself from the huddle. "Sounds good to me, Bev. Let's go. I could use a little air."

Bill frowned at them as Richie shrugged on an oversized sweatshirt and Beverly pulled on her coat. "Stuh-Stay close and puh-pay attensh...shh...shun." He stuttered out firmly, looking from Bev to Richie as if they were a pair of hyperactive kids prone to running off alone.

Beverly grinned and slipped her pack of Marlboros out of her purse. "We'll be on our best behavior." she promised. Beside her, Richie snorted, flipping his lighter over and over in his hands.

Bill smirked wryly and glanced at the pair of them: Bev, in her deep teal coat with fur around the hood, black leggings, and Doc Martin combat boots, to Richie, his wild nest of curls messy even shoved beneath a red beanie. His hoodie was purple and contrasted with the black holey jeans and red chucks he was wearing. His pack of cigarettes was shoved up a sleeve, the shape of the package bulging out the fabric from the shape of his wiry arm.

"What, you jus' gonna eye us up forever or are ya gonna let the missus have the smoke she wanted, mistah?" Richie asked in some sort of mobster voice, earning a chuckle from both Bev and Stan to everyone's surprise.

Bill held his hands up passively. "Go on, g-go on, Ruh-Richie. Just don't guh-get distracted, we're puh-picking up Eddie and Ben's cuh-cars tuh-today."

Ben and Eddie had left their vehicles at the airport, but with everything that was happening, they had all agreed it would be nice to have more than just Richie's convertible to get around town with. It didn't comfortably fit all of them, plus it was a bit too flashy. To counteract that issue, most of them were all going that morning to the airport to get Ben's midsized sedan and Eddie's prized Lincoln Continental.

Richie reached into his back pocket and tossed Ben the keys to his convertible, the other man blinking in surprise before he fumbled and just barely caught them. "I could use a walk anyways. Just don't scratch her!" Richie yelled over his shoulder as Beverly giggled and shoved him out the door, the taller of them leaning backwards on her bonelessly and causing Bev to curse and throw an elbow into his spine.

"Damn it, Rich, walk!"

"Ah can't ah say ah ca-YUN'T, massah. Ah gots me ah foine case o' the vapahs. Can't wahk, can't tahk, ah say no sirree!" Richie crowed in some sort of combination of his Southern Belle Voice and God knows what else. He was bending over nearly backwards at the waist just so he could make Beverly hook her arms under his torso and lift him. 

"Move it or lose it, kiddo. I got places to be." Beverly teased, pinching his cheek even as Richie grinned and began to walk under his own power. 

"Catch you squirts later, make good choices! Don't do anyone I wouldn't do." he called, earning a raised middle finger from Eddie and a hoot of laughter from Ben and Mike. Bill just rolled his eyes, a smile on his lips that gradually fell as he turned back to face the others.


	32. The Elephant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill and Stan awkwardly dance around each other and the Losers plan their busy day.

Stan looked around at the rest of the Losers, seeing that they were all pretty much ready to go.

"Bill, if I take everyone down to the airport to get the cars, do you want me to take Georgie with us?" he asked coolly. 

Their leader shook his head. "He's cuh-coming t-to muh-meet her."

Bill had informed them all that morning that he wouldn't be there for most of the day, he was going to visit Audra again. He wasn't accusing but his tone had been icy when he informed Stan.

Stan had stubbornly ignored the pang of hurt and brushed his curly hair out of his face before replying that it would be a nice change of scenery for her. Bill grit his teeth and slunk from the room while the others shot his retreating back and Stan's face confused, questioning glances. 

He explained nothing.

Today they had been cold but polite to each other.

Bill slung on a scarf and reached for his coat, before crouching down to make sure Georgie's clothes were on correctly.

Since Mike didn't have any kids clothing lying around, they had thrown Georgie's old ones into the wash and he had borrowed one of Bill's much too large shirts to wear to bed. It fit him like a nightgown, the bottom nearly brushing the floor when he walked. Before they went to the hospital, Bill was going to take him to the store for a few things.

"Okay, guh-gloves, hat, cuh-coat, puh-pants, shuh-shoes...what else?" he asked Mike worriedly.

Mike smiled, a relaxed thing as he sipped at his coffee and watched Richie and Bev giggle together as they crossed the street arm in arm, heading downtown. "You'll figure it out, there's a lot to choose from anymore."

Bill bit his lip; that didn't help...

He glanced over at Stan, wishing for the umpteenth time that they weren't fighting. He could use the man's second nature of planning everything down to the nitty gritty and found himself trying to find the right words to apologize to Stan.

But he didn't know them.

He could think of hundreds of apt descriptions for a horror novel's monster to be shown for the first time, knew every sickening verb and adjective he would need to plant the perfect visual in a reader's mind and set the monster loose from there. 

But yet he couldn't find the words to express regret for his actions to his childhood best friend. 

Hell, he didn't even know why they were fighting at all anymore, besides that he yearned for a relationship with Stan and simultaneously wanted one with Audra. But surely that didn't make him an evil man. An indecisive, possibly stupid one, but not an evil man anyway. 

Besides, that word that Richie had said earlier. Polyamory. It kept floating through Bill's head. Richie made it seem like it was common enough, and yet Bill had never heard of it. How did these polyamorous people do it? Did they just date multiple partners at once? Were they married to them all? To none of them? He had so many questions and no answers.

Bill shook his head to clear it. Now wasn't the time to dwell on it, he needed to take care of Georgie and then make sure Audra was fine. She was his main priority.

He reached for his wallet to check and make sure he was going to have enough funds for this unexpected venture into the general store for all manner of children's clothes and items, only to find a thin piece of paper tucked between the bills themselves and the wall of his wallet. Bill tugged it out and stared at the list, written in loopy and even cursive.

_Children's winter coat_  
_Children's winter boots_  
_Gloves x 3 pairs_  
_Hat/s_  
_Underwear x3 packages_  
_Shirts x9_  
_Pants x9_  
_Children's shoes_  
_Toys, 3 big, 3 small, 3 bath_

The list went on from there, but Bill folded it in half and shot Stan an appreciative smile. The accountant inclined his head once, as if embarrassed, before he threw himself back into conversation with Mike and Ben.

Eddie put his hand on his shoulder. "I guess I'm driving you to the store and then the hospital. I'll bring the car and whatever Georgie doesn't wear right now back here, okay?"

Bill shot him a grateful glance. The morning felt hectic and urgent already, anything to help him keep his wits about him today was much appreciated. "Guh-good plan, Eds. Juh-Georgie, you r-ready to go tuh-to the store?"

Georgie yawned and rubbed one eye sleepily. "'m ready to go back 't bed, Billy."

Bill pretended to check the list over again. "Wuh-Well, it says huh-here that y-you get to puh-pick out some toys, too."

Georgie's eyes widened and he scrambled onto Bill's lap, eagerly peeking at the note. "Wow, really? I get to pick toys? Three plus three plus three of 'em?" 

Bill held the note out of reach, smirking. "C-Can you tell me huh-how muh-many that is? I-If you're ruh-right I'll buh-buy you an extra one."

Georgie furrowed his brow and stammered, staring intently down at his fingers as he counted.

"Um...six?" he asked hopefully after a minute. Stan flashed three fingers at him from behind Bill's back and Georgie quickly amended his answer. "I mean nine! Nine, not six!" Bill glanced curiously at Stan only to find the man casually sipping his coffee and doing the next day's sudoku puzzle.

"That's ruh-right, Georgie, but it suh-sounds like you need more practice on yuh-your addi-di-di-shun. We can muh-make flash cards, like with M-M-Muh-" His lips stubbornly faltered on the name and Georgie piped up helpfully. 

"Like Mommy used to make us?" he asked. Bill looked wistful but nodded. 

"Y-Yuh-Yeah. Like th-those."

Georgie harrumphed as though it was some sort of colossal world ending agreement before nodding once. "Can I color on 'em?"

Bill smiled and added 'colored pencils' to the list with a flourish before Eddie cleared his throat.

"Ready?" Eddie asked softly, glancing from Bill down to Georgie, who replied with a sleepy 'uh huh'.

"Let's g-go." Bill agreed, heading for the door. Eddie slipped into a second sweatshirt of Richie's, taking a small second to just feel the warmth from it and the lingering stubborn scent of Richie himself, before seeming to realize Bill's eyes were on him. He snapped to attention and shoved the too large sleeves back up his arms, Ben passing him Richie's car keys to him as they walked by the parlor.

"Richie says don't get a scratch on her." Ben teased as he passed the keys over, laughing at the way Eddie rolled his eyes.

"Drive fast, take chances. Got it, mom." he shot back, not seeming to notice the way that Stan and Bill had both frozen and shot each other glances. Richie did say that he thought Eddie might start to test the waters by saying things that he may have been ingrained not to before. The best thing they could do to support him was not to ask about it and just let him speak and be heard, and that was exactly what they were going to do.

"Drive safe." Stan said softly, pausing to somewhat cautiously pat Eddie on the shoulder. The man's face lit up and Stan couldn't help but smile in return.

"Sure. Sure I will." Eddie agreed easily, twirling the keys around his finger as he stepped outside, Bill and Georgie right behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: An unexpected visitor shows up with the intention to do harm to a few Losers in particular...


	33. Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beverly and Richie discuss their pasts and what led up to her surprise confession that morning. An unexpected enemy arrives and takes them both by surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie this was my favorite chapter so far to write. Hopefully you all enjoy it! Also we hit a huge milestone last night, 800 kudos! You guys are insane and I love it. *^*

Richie took a long drag in from his cigarette, breathing the smoke out against the wall of the alley he and Bev had gathered in front of. It was out of the wind, although the chill in the air made his exhaled smoke become gallons of thick white vapor that vanished in the frigid Derry air.

Bev laughed to herself as she cupped her thin fingers over a Marlboro and tried to light the damn thing, only for her to flick her lighter in vain four times with no luck. "Damn thing's crapped out on me." she muttered, frowning down at her bejeweled turtle shaped lighter. The teal gemstones set into the shell were fake but she had always liked it ever since she found it at a pawnshop in Derry when she was just a kid. Two bucks it cost her, two bucks was huge. It was disappointing to see it not working all these years later. 

Richie shrugged and stuck his own lighter, a plain black Bic, under her cigarette while she breathed in. "Here, no worries. Lil' bit of butane'll fix it right up." he promised with an easygoing grin. 

Bev smiled back as she pocketed her lighter. Words couldn't describe how grateful she was to Richie Tozier. He had been her best friend, once, her main confident in a group full of boys. They had smoked together, snuck out together, grown up together.

Even now, after all the shit that had gone down in their own individual lives for the twenty seven long years they had been apart, Richie and Bev came back together like clockwork, like trying to keep a north and south magnet apart. It just didn't work. 

Objectively they probably shouldn't have been as close as they were. Beverly loved fashion and trends and Richie made up his own. Richie enjoyed video games and Bev would rather watch movies. Beverly preferred to dance and peck her dates on the cheek whereas Richie usually just wanted to make out and sleep with his. 

They should have hated each other.

Instead they were as close as two people with very different goals, dreams, and desires could be.

Bev took in a long drag of her cigarette, exhaling the sweet smoke and feeling the heat brush against her shimmery nude lipstick.

"So why today?" Richie asked from his perch, sitting on top of a garbage can across the alley. Although neither of them had yet realized it, this was the alley between the old pharmacy and the deli where Mike used to deliver cuts of meat. This was the alley where they had first met Bev, and had watched as Eddie put Ben back together. This was the alley where Belch, Vic, and Henry Bowers had nearly mowed Mike down, right after he saw Pennywise for the first time.

This was the alley where they became the Loser's Club.

Bev flicked her eyes in his direction, watching him cross his legs and hold his cigarette between two long fingers. His dark curls peeked out from underneath the beanie he was wearing, and even though it had been decades since she had last seen Richie Tozier wearing glasses, Bev couldn't help but feel that there was just something natural about seeing him clad in his old pair again, even though there was a crack in one lens.

"What do you mean, why today?" she asked instead, leaning against the brick wall and feeling the cold unyielding stone through the back of her jacket. She stared pointedly down at her shoes, wiggling her toes in her boots as if waving to Richie from across the alley. Bev couldn't help but laugh at that, and Richie was used to it enough that he didn't question her behavior.

"This...this whole abusive boyfriend thing. Why'd you decide to tell us all today? It seemed kind of out of nowhere. Something on your mind?" Richie asked, flicking the ash from his smoke and watching the grey waste float to the ground. It seemed like he had been thinking a lot, those dark chocolate brown eyes glancing up at her curiously. Bev took another drag to buy her time to think of an answer, crossing her arms and being careful not to burn herself with the cherry.

"....I decided I'm tired, Rich. Tired of it all. So I said, 'fuck it,' I guess." Bev answered with a small shrug. Richie didn't look away, a frown inching to overtake his features even as he pulled one long leg up to pick at a loose string in the fraying knees of his black jeans. 

When he spoke again, his tone was easy and relaxed, but Bev could practically feel the storm running through his veins. "That's not an honest answer, Bevvie."

She scowled, glaring over at him almost in warning. He knew she hated that nickname, only allowed it when certain people said it certain ways, it reminded her too much of her father and of Tom. "Fuck off." she said in warning, pointing at him with her cigarette. 

Richie wasn't that easily deterred. He knew there was something else, which was why he was so determined she tell him the truth. "Then why don't you answer my question?"

She groaned in exasperation and stubbed her cigarette out on the brick, flicking the butt at him. "Why don't you ask what you actually want to know, then, and stop with all the cryptic bullshit, Rich. You wear your heart on your sleeve, you always have."

Richie scowled but didn't protest, pinching the filter of the cigarette between his fingertips and rolling it back and forth, watching the tip slowly burn. "I....how'd you do it?"

Bev blinked in surprise, ceasing to dig through her purse to find her sunglasses to look up at him. He wasn't meeting her eyes anymore, instead he was looking rather intently at the wall across from him, about two feet to the left of her. "Richie...what do you mean?"

He uncrossed his legs and got to his feet, pacing in a tight circle. "How did you just...get the balls to leave, after everything he did? After years and years and _years_ of abuse? I know your dad was that way, and Tom was, too, but how do you manage to get the damn courage to leave in the first place?!"

Bev blinked in surprise, staring up at Richie and realizing for the first time that they were now the ones furthest in height difference, even between Richie and Eddie. 

Richie was the tallest of them all, just barely and to everyone's surprise. He hadn't been the tallest as a kid, not even the second tallest. In fact, when they had gone down to fight Pennywise the first time, Richie had been one of the three shortest Losers, along with her and Eddie.

Now, though, he had shot up like a weed, all the way up to six feet, five inches. Mike was arguably the same height but Richie's wild curls and longer neck gave him the slightest inch on Mike at six foot four. Bill and Stan were both tied at six foot three, while Ben stood at six foot one and a half. Eddie, to his eternal mortification, had peaked at five feet, nine inches, and Beverly had stopped at five foot six, making her now the shortest member of the Loser's Club _(except for Georgie and possibly Audra but they weren't members of the Loser's Club not really right-?)_

Still, she felt raw and unsure as she answered, like Richie could see right through her, like the height he had gained came with it incredible clairvoyant abilities such as the power to detect a lie.

"I....it's hard to explain. I just...I got sick. Real sick of it all. Everywhere I go, I feel them."

Richie tilted his head in surprise and concern. "You feel what?"

Beverly swallowed once, her fingers fumbling a bit unsteadily as she lit up a second cigarette. "Eyes." she admitted, Richie offering his lighter to her again without being prompted. "Thanks." she murmured a bit breathlessly.

"Tell me about the eyes." Richie invited softly, his voice calm and steady. She looked up at him from under her eyelashes and was surprised by how shockingly beautiful he had become over the years. His pale skin had been captured in the lights of a thousand stages around the nation, his dark curls photographed by countless paparazzi, and his Voices were well known enough that he had already been recognized twice just since coming back to Derry.

She had always thought he was beautiful, even when he was just a kid of thirteen years old.

Bev remembered him as he was then, a scrawny, skinny, buck toothed kid with glasses so large and thick they took up a good two thirds of his face and made his eyes look twice as large. His hair was dark and often greasy from his deadbeat mom spending the water bill funds on booze and saltines instead of groceries or clothes that were more flattering on her son.

She remembered gangly limbs, skinned knees and bandaged hands, pink lips chapped from smoking, ink from comic books worn onto the tips of his fingers and smeared sometimes along the bridge of his nose from pushing up the frames of his glasses. She remembers ill fitting tee shirts that were so painfully loose on him it almost hurt to see and a collection of the most garish and ugly shirts he could afford from the local pawnshop or Goodwill. She remembered asking him why he didn't ever buy the more casual and less attention grabbing shirts next time.

She remembered his answer. 

_"Well, Bevvie my love, it's simple. If I pick the normal clothes my parents will think what they do is okay, that they're good parents somehow because at least I've got some decent clothes on my back. When I buy these Hawaiian print shirts, or the outdated and ugly ones that even the hobos don't buy with money they've scrounged up from picking up sticky old soda cans? They have to see their damn kid dressed like he just escaped the friggin' circus and they have to look at me and they just have to **know.** They have to know, right?" He had stammered to a halt, looking up at her with an expression of bewildered surprise, as if he didn't expect to hear himself telling anyone these things and wanted desperately to know how she did it. "I want them to look at me and see their fuck ups. I want them to see me dressed like a fool and realize that their damn kid goes out looking like a clown and gets his ass beat for it almost every day because they're shitty parents who can't even be bothered to keep the fridge stocked with things beside cold beer and stale hotdogs. They can't even keep the fucking lights on these days because they're too caught up in themselves to care about each other, much less the result of their little bouncy bed game thirteen years ago. I want them to know that. And if it makes them miserable to see me prancing around like some kind of fucking fairy boy then so much the better." Richie had spat bitterly as if quoting someone else, before getting to his feet and sliding down the side of the roof to land in the bushes. He stepped out of the shadows, shaking leaves from his body, picked up his bicycle, and pedaled out into the night. Bev wanted to cry for him to come back but if her dad heard her up on the roof at that time of night with a boy no less, he would kick her ass. _

Now, even though he had grown into his sharp features and gangly limbs, even though people across the nation cheered his name when he performed, Beverly looked past that and still saw her friend Richie.

And her friend Richie had asked her a question.

"Everywhere I go. I can feel them. Just...eyes. Eyes on me. When I'm at the corner store looking for a snack, I can feel eyes from the beer case. From the cashier. From the man pumping gas. And it's not just there. When I'm at work, the men there, they stare. All the time. They never do more than that, never usually say anything, they just. They look, and they take."

Richie's fingertips reached out to entangle with hers, warm from being stuffed in his pockets. The temperature difference startled her more than his words. "What do they take?" he asked softly, as if trying not to scare her off, as if she were something delicate and precious that was about ready to flee.

Bev's throat felt thick and that was when she realized she had started to cry. 

"Everything." she whispered brokenly, a heaving sort of desperate sob. Bev didn't know how to put into words what she was feeling, how much she hated being female some days. How much she hated walking down the street and feeling the slimy eyes of men like Tom raking up her form, mentally cataloging her and comparing her to the other girls on the street, other girls these men knew, past girls they had seen before. How it felt to have your whole worth, your entire value as a woman based on your appearance and your body. How it felt to be desired and lusted after like a piece of meat all the time, having to constantly look over her shoulder to find another pair of eyes flick up almost apologetically from her legs, her breasts, or her ass. How it felt to know that some of these men would take her by force if the opportunity was right. Who would it be? The scruffy looking man reading a newspaper outside the bus station who had lost page A4 to the wind when he spent a little too long ogling Bev instead of focusing on the paper? The man cleaning windows and leering at her reflection, looking away innocently the instant she caught him looking? Perhaps the businessman walking down the street? It was always the quiet ones.

"I...I'm not a whore-!" Beverly choked out, as Richie swore softly and pulled her into a tight hug. It felt all wrong, all bony limbs and thin chest rather than the strength and warmth that Ben offered, but this wasn't meant to be a lover or a boyfriend comforting her. This was Richie, and he was different.

"I know you're not." he whispered into her ear, his fingers gently plucking the cigarette from hers and setting it down between a crack in the brick wall behind her. "I know you're not, Bev."

She sobbed and let her arms shakily come up to hold him. "I....I've tried. I've tried _everything,_ Richie! I-I wear baggy clothes, loose and shapeless, I stopped wearing tight jeans, I started to eat more to try and put on weight to make them stop looking but they just _don't!_ As soon as Mike called, as soon as I remembered you guys...I didn't want to feel those same damned eyes on me like that in my own damned house. I realized Tom was just like all the rest of them, and so I left him."

Richie hummed into her ear, not protesting or cutting her off, just listening quietly. 

Bev heaved in a slow gasp of oxygen and sighed out a quivering breath. "Th-they all just...take and take and take! I might as well not even be there, they don't care about me, just my body, just what I look like, just what I can do for _them-"_

Richie pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and Bev cried.

Once she was done, all sobbed out with nothing but faint tear tracks drying on her cheeks and her breathing had returned to normal, she kissed him back. Just a small peck on the cheek, that's all it ever was between them, but to Beverly and Richie it meant more. It was every innocent kiss their parents should have given them, a simple gesture of love and comfort that was as intimate as a handshake and as unbreakable as a promise made in blood by the cistern of an old sewer.

He grinned cheekily and handed her back her cigarette. The people on the street passed by the lip of their alley, never glancing over, never looking their direction until suddenly-

"-you must be Denbrough."

And then rough hands had clamped onto Richie's shoulders, tearing him away from Bev, only for a solid knee to slam into his midsection. Richie gasped noiselessly as the breath was forced from his lungs and pain shot through his body. He dropped like a stone, only for something hard to slam into the side of his head, sending him tumbling bonelessly to the ground and moaning out a low curse. He could make out shrill screaming, the sound of someone being punched over and over-

-he pulled himself up, his unfocused eyes coming up to stare with mild interest at his own hands, pushing against the dark cement to try and get himself off the ground.

There was a voice, now, one he had never heard before, a man's voice, low and gravelly. "I told you and told you. I hate it when you smoke, Bevvie. Now, I don't care how many goddamned boyfriends you've got, you little slut, I'll kill 'em all one at a fuckin' time if that's what I've got to do. Get your ass in the fucking car before I beat it black and blue and we gotta have this conversation from the back of an ambulance."

"Fuck you, Tom! Fuck you!" Beverly screamed back angrily, swinging her purse at him and catching the man across the face. The buckle left a red mark on his cheek, blue eyes widening dangerously.

Richie saw a dizzying flash of red hair and watched a blur of black rear back and punch her in the face, saw her head bounce off the brick wall from the force.

He saw red, and even though he knew he was pretty fucked up, could tell by the way his thoughts were fuzzy and there was something wet and stubborn slicking his hair against the back of his neck, he flung himself at the attacker.

He heard Bev scream again even as the black blur swore and slammed him up against the wall. For the first time Richie could see the man's face clearly, could see how bruised and battered he already was. Clearly he had gotten into it with somebody, and he suspected that from the conversation he had overheard and the way Beverly was behaving that this was the infamous Tom Rogan.

He laughed even as Tom's eyes narrowed.

"What the fuck're you lookin' at, huh?" Tom snapped, his eyes murderous even as he shook Richie violently by the front of his hoodie. The jostling only made Richie laugh harder.

"Jus' check'n t' see how bad m' Bev fuck'd up yer pr'tty lil' face there, buddy."

Richie didn't have time to anticipate the pain as Tom grabbed a fistful of his hair and began to slam his head repeatedly into the unforgiving brick behind him. He just heard the faint _click_ of a blade being flicked open, Beverly making a noise of pain, and the sound of squealing tires before the black spots dancing before his eyes grew larger and larger and swallowed his world whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Eddie is heading back from dropping Georgie and Bill off at the hospital when he spots a strange man beating the snot out of Richie and Bev in an alley. What will he do? Find out tomorrow...


	34. Crash and Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie takes Bill and Georgie to the general store and delves deeper into the mystery of the deadlights. After that, Eddie finds himself being abruptly introduced to Beverly's ex in the most interesting of ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm so glad you all loved the last chapter! Hopefully this one meets your needs of protective!Eddie, and I hope you all have a happy new year! :3

Once they pulled up to the store, Georgie's lingering sleepiness seemed to evaporate as he caught sight of all of the large stuffed animals in the window. "Billy! Billy, look at that one, it's a giraffe! Oh, they have tigers and dinosaurs too! Let's go let's go c'mon hurry up-!" he babbled on excitedly, tugging on Bill's hand to try and get him out of the car faster. Eddie grinned, shaking his head as he too got out of the convertible, making sure it was locked.

"Georgie, do you think they'll sell the last one to another kid?" Eddie asked, grinning as Georgie shrieked in panic and sprinted into the store, Bill following behind him after shooting Eddie a look.

"Billy, hurry up! I don't want them to sell it to someone else!" he whined desperately, disappearing into a flock of other children.

Bill huffed and glanced over at Eddie, the shorter man smirking unabashedly. "Duh-Did you r-really have tuh-to get him all fuh-fired up?"

Eddie paused as if to consider this as he browsed through a collection of kids toys somewhat distractedly. "Hm? Oh, no, I didn't have to. I just wanted to."

Bill blinked and then laughed, reaching over to ruffle Eddie's hair. "Y-Yuh-You've been spending t-too much tuh-time with Ruh-Richie, I think he's r-rubbing off on yuh-you."

Eddie's eyes widened and he dropped the plush he was examining as if he'd been shocked, turning to Bill with a nervous expression like a child whose hand was caught in the cookie jar. "Wh-What? N-no, he's not, we've never, I mean, I don't like to, I...I'm not..."

Bill mentally backtracked and his blue eyes shot open as he realized how that might sound. "Nuh-No, I, I didn't...shit. I didn't muh-mean it like that, Eddie, r-really."

Eddie bit his lip, glancing around for a moment as if expecting one of the many parents or children here to overhear him. "I...I found something. In Richie's bag. It's, uh. It's made me a little....confused, I guess. I'm still a little jumpy...sorry."

Bill frowned and furrowed his brow, stepping forward slightly out of instinct before hearing Stan's voice almost chidingly in his head reminding him to respect Eddie's space. He took a step back as an afterthought. "Wh..what did y-you fuh-find, Eddie?"

The shorter man sighed and shoved his hands into the pocket on the front of Richie's sweatshirt. His lips pursed in thought, as if trying to think of how to tastefully explain. "There was this...photo..."

"Oh. _OH."_ Bill realized in an instant what Eddie must have stumbled upon, cheeks flushing red. "H-Hey, Richie's always buh-been very puh-p-prom-miscuous. Even th-though it seems wuh-weird, it's honestly puh-pretty n-normal to look at dirty m-magazines and-"

Eddie blinked and shot Bill a confused look, stepping a little closer to a display of some kind of animals with superpowers and flicking through it absentmindedly. "Wait, are you...are you... giving me the talk right now?" he asked incredulously, looking nervously at Bill as if praying he wasn't.

Bill's mouth clamped shut and he bit his lip awkwardly as if he could somehow take his words back. "I-I...you said h-he had a fuh-photo, I just ah-assumed-!" He could feel his blush inching from along his cheekbones down to the back of his neck, burning with embarrassment.

To his surprise Eddie broke out into almost frantic giggling, leaning on the display for balance. "B-Bill, I know what porn is. And jerking off. Are you forgetting that I've been friends with Richie for years? I think I caught him masturbating in his room more than anyone else." he said with a flush, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "But, uh...this was...different. It was a picture with him. And another....another man."

And, oh, _now_ Bill gets it. Of course with Eddie's history and current unsureness, he would be confused by photos like that, especially ones that depicted his best friend in sexual situations. "Well, u-um, you know that Ruh-Richie is buh-bisexual, so...th-that includes muh-men..." His voice was almost apologetic, unsure how to broach the topic without triggering Eddie more.

Georgie ran by them with a pack of other kids, brandishing a foam sword and whacking the slower runners with it. "Gotcha!" he cried triumphantly as he succeeded in knocking a cowgirl hat off a girl's head, which promptly resulted in her throwing her head back and squealing. Her mother stepped in and scooped her up, shooting Georgie a dirty look, but he just grinned cheekily and ran off to another part of the store. Bill shook his head to hide a smile even as Eddie spoke up again indignantly.

"Do you think I'm homophobic, Bill?" he asked seriously, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bill's heart seized in his chest, unsure how to answer. "I...I thuh-think you've b-been th-through a lot." he answered carefully, glancing over at him to see how he interpreted his words.

Eddie huffed irritably, glancing up at Bill. "Are you serious? I've always supported Richie one hundred percent, I don't care who or what he wants to stick his penis into, that's his business." he said firmly and with determination. Bill tilted his head to the side, unsure of why Eddie was so confident about that one fact when he acted unsure of almost everything else relating to sexuality.

"Th-then whuh-why does this one puh-picture fuh-freak you out so b-bad...?" Bill asked, not understanding. Eddie flinched, looking from side to side before he finally sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, reaching into his pocket to pull out the photo and flash it swiftly at the writer before stowing it away as quickly as he could.

Bill's eyes bugged out almost comically as he followed the photograph with his eyes. "E-Eh-Eddie-! Th-that man, h-he l-looks-"

"-just like me? Yeah, I...I thought so, too." Eddie bit his lip and began to fidget, wringing his hands and looking almost dismayed at the way the sleeves of Richie's sweatshirt had fallen down to hand just past his thumbs. "I....It just...it confuses me."

Bill blinked, seeming to only now notice the way Eddie's cheeks had pinkened slightly, the way he wasn't meeting his eyes, or the way he kept biting his lip. "Are you cuh-confused about Ruh-Richie l-liking you that wuh-way? Do yuh-you _want_ Richie to thuh-think of you that w-way?" he asked, throwing caution to the wind. Screw it, Eddie seemed bothered and Bill knew that none of the other Losers would know how to handle this except perhaps Richie or Stan. 

Eddie's eyes widened and he shot Bill a long look of panic hidden behind carefully disguised disdain. His face was almost deliberately blank, like Bill's childhood friend had simply slipped on a mask. It made Bill somewhat uneasy with how quickly Eddie had shut down and closed him out. "That's not funny, Bill. Richie doesn't like me that way and even if he did, I'm still a married man." His tone was deliberate and chilly.

Shoot. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything after all.

Bill licked his lips for a second, pondering how to approach this subject when Georgie came out of nowhere, his arms overflowing with toys. "Wh-Whoa, there, kiddo. Yuh-you're going to drop those if you aren't cuh-careful..."

Georgie giggled and passed over his carefully selected three bath toys to both Eddie and Bill for their approval. 

Eddie found himself holding a plastic sailboat designed for the bathtub, a little white rubber duck with baby blue eyes, and a plastic scuba diver complete with helmet and dive suit. However his left arm appeared to have been sheared off completely, possibly from being tugged off by another kid or dropped from a shelf and shoved back to avoid getting in trouble. He held it up with a wry smile. "Georgie, this one's broken, wouldn't you rather have a toy that's got both his arms?"

Georgie frowned, turning his attention away from babbling descriptions of the toys to Bill and gave Eddie an unconcerned and free spirited smile. "It'll grow back, it's okay. I don't mind him with only one arm for a little while."

Eddie blinked, unsure of how to respond, before he tried again, his fingertips gently brushing against the spot where the figurine's arm was missing. "Arms don't grow back, Georgie. It doesn't work like that."

Georgie Denbrough turned and looked up at Eddie innocently, reaching up to take the broken scuba diver from his hands, an off sort of grin on his lips. "Yours did."

With that, he smiled and began to dart towards another aisle to search for his three allowed 'big toys'. 

Eddie blinked for a moment, taken aback, before glancing over at Bill. His brow was furrowed and he looked over to Eddie with something like concern. 

"Georgie, he...huh-he said something luh-last night about buh-being...in the duh-deadlights."

Eddie didn't look away from where Georgie had gone, biting his lip absentmindedly and looking decidedly spaced out, seeming to be lost in thought. "Yeah. There." he murmured a little breathlessly. His right arm in it's cast came up to rub his left arm somewhat protectively, as if picturing himself without it again.

Bill frowned and placed his hand on Eddie's shoulder. He didn't even flinch.

"Eddie...? I-I...I hate tuh-to ask, b-but...m-my brother. He...I wuh-want to nuh-know. Twenty suh-seven years he suh-spent there...c-can you...t-tuh-tell me...?" Bill felt guilt toil in his stomach for even daring to ask such a personal question, but of all three Losers who had been killed by It, who had spent extended time in the deadlights, only Eddie seemed the most comfortable talking about it.

Anytime Bill breathed the name Pennywise or mentioned the clown they had fought at all, Stan would freeze up and begin to fidget and rub at his wrists and forearms. Afte a few minutes he would shake his head as if snapping out of it, and then go back to whatever he was doing. Only Bill seemed to have noticed, or if the others had as well, they didn't say anything to him about it.

Georgie he didn't even want to try to talk to about it. Anytime he tried, it seemed like the six year old got giggly or distant and it made Bill uncomfortably remember when Pennywise had puppeted his little brother around like a marionette on a string. He shivered then as the mental image of Pennywise doing that with Eddie and Stan as well and forced himself to push that thought aside violently.

_(but they would dance and do whatever i say, even kill you all, little stan bleeding out while he cries and tears your throat out and eddie screaming because he lost his arm again even while he stabs richie to death with his own pocket knife oh how the fun we would have buh buh billy boy)_

Bill shook his head again, cursing his overactive imagination for summoning the same voice he had heard in the deadlights fighting Pennywise during the Ritual of Chüd. It was too horrible to imagine, and the damn thing was dead, so there was no point dwelling on what ifs.

Eddie swallowed once and looked down at his shoes. "It's...it's not a place, not really. You just...well." His fingers darted towards his hip and floundered for a moment when he realized that his inhaler was long gone still. "I....when I slipped, when my arm fell into It's mouth....when It bit down and tore my arm off, I could feel it."

Bill gently reached up to pull Eddie towards one of the benches at the front of the store, sitting him down. It looked like a stiff breeze could blow him over and he didn't want people to say or do anything to make it worse. This was necessary, however, if Georgie was ever going to learn to grow and adapt after twenty seven years gone, Bill needed an idea of what had happened to them all.

"Wh-what did you fuh-feel?" Bill asked softly, his fingers toying with his wallet to distract him from fidgeting or moving around too much. He remained perfectly still aside from his fingers flicking through credit cards and money, as if the slightest motion would have Eddie clamping down on this information.

The man's brown hair had fallen into his face, and he reached up with shaky fingers to move it aside before he spoke again, still not meeting Bill's eyes.

"I...it felt like I was floating. Like something had hooked into me. N-Not my body, but _me..._ and it was like I was falling up, or floating, but it was too fast. Like I was shooting upwards really really fast. It was gold," he said, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he spoke, "It felt like maybe a magical sort of place. You feel comforted and so, so happy. I felt like all I ever wanted was to just fall asleep there and never leave. I thought maybe... maybe that was supposed to be heaven." He sniffed once but didn't cry, only now glancing over at Bill for any sort of reaction. The author nodded for him to continue, longing to reach over and comfort him somehow but unsure of where Eddie's boundaries lay after everything he had been through. Bill settled for squeezing his shoulder, which Eddie didn't flinch away from. He considered that a victory in its own way.

Eddie sighed before continuing. "I...I remember being disorientated. It was empty, but at the same time it was so full. It went on forever, endlessly spanning either direction. That was what was strange, I didn't feel the...the same tug that I used to. The one that told me where I needed to go. It was there, but it was like something was blocking it somehow, was confusing me. I got scared and lost my way. And then..." he trailed off, biting his lip and letting his hands tighten around the toys Georgie had left behind, specifically the rubber duck.

"I found Stan. It was like that was the one direction that I could find even with my...my sense of direction all messed up. He was just...floating there. Like Bev was when we were kids and Pennywise took her. He was floating, but this wasn't the same, I knew that I couldn't really do anything to snap him out of it like with Bev. His body was gone. His mind was all that was left, and he had been there without anyone else for four whole days. Time doesn't work the same there, four days might seem like a short time but...when it's just you...a-and, and Pennywise, and the deadlights...it feels like forever."

Bill took in a short inhale of breath, the thought of any of the Losers trapped like that making his heart ache, but even more so for Stan. Of all of them, being alone without any of the others there, that was Stan's biggest fear after It. After the lady from the painting dragged him away and nearly chewed his face off. Bill felt another wave of inner shame as he remembered them all crowding around Stan, hugging him, reassuring him that he was loved...and Bill had left. Had gotten up to chase the ghost of his brother. And for what? Revenge? It seemed so stupid now.

Eddie sucked in a shaky shuddering breath before he continued his story.

"I...I was only there for a...a few hours, but God, Bill, it felt like an eternity. I could feel It... _everywhere._ O-On me, around me, I-It...It _spoke_ to me, talked into my head, I couldn't...couldn't block It out. Everywhere I went, anytime I moved, I felt Pennywise. In the air, thick and sticky and so, so _wrong._ Like when you know it's about to storm, except...it just stays charged, that strange unearthly energy..." His leg was bouncing now, fidgeting more and more. Bill bit his lip and wondered if he should stop Eddie, but curiosity got the better of him yet again.

"Wh-What duh-did you suh-see there?" he asked, hardly realizing he had even said it. Eddie blinked and finally turned to look at him. His brown eyes were distant and almost milky looking, like remembering the deadlights was enough to start to pull him back there. 

"I...It. Pennywise was there. The deadlights, they're...a part of It. Sort of. It's not a place, not really, it's like, some sort of reality where It is all powerful. There was something dead, there, a giant body, something old and ancient, but... I found some...some other victims.... they were even worse off than Stan. Betty Ripsom, she...she was gone. I found where she was, like a vacuum or a void, a space where she was supposed to be, but...she wasn't there, not really. I think...maybe, somehow, after awhile... I..." Eddie looked almost frantic as he turned to meet Bill's eyes, brown on blue. 

"I-I don't think It j-just eats human flesh. I....I think it feeds on more than that. It...It eats _us._ Reaches down inside and grabs what's important and just..." He stood abruptly, his arms wrapped around himself as if scared that Pennywise was going to appear and finish the job. "I...I tried to fight. I...I could hear you guys, y'know? You and Richie, during the Ritual of Chüd. It was like I was underwater and you guys were so, _so_ far away. I could barely hear you, but I knew you were fighting Pennywise from the other side. So I tried to fight, too."

Bill gaped up at Eddie, Georgie's previous words from last night coming back to him in an instant. 

_Georgie giggled excitedly, hugging his knees. "We all floated away!"_

_Bill's heart stuttered in his chest. "Y...you...ah, what?"_

_Georgie didn't seem to notice anything was wrong. "Yeah! We all floated for awhile. It was like when Mommy hugs ya and sings a lullaby except you don't wanna get up and keep playing longer. You just wanna stay there and float forever. But Stan and Eddie didn't wanna float. They were screamin' and fighting somethin' for awhile. Then we all woke up in the sewers!"_

Bill's eyes widened. "You...yuh-you and Stan, you were buh-both fighting Pennywise fuh-from inside the d-deadlights...!"

Eddie nodded solemnly, looking scared. Terrified, even. 

"I...Stan woke up, somehow. I think he heard me screaming at It, telling It we were gonna kill It for real this time. He helped, too, or tried, anyways, tried to help me catch It's tongue, but then...."

Bill wasn't sure he wanted to know what happened next, but by God, he was going to hear Eddie out for as long as he was willing to talk. "Thuh-then what happened...?" he breathed softly. In that moment he didn't see the kids around them at the store, didn't hear the annoying 'beeps' of the checkout line. His whole being was focused on Eddie and his story.

Eddie reached up to rub at his left shoulder somewhat absentmindedly, right at the spot where his arm was torn off.

"It was...pissed. Furious. Pennywise appeared, and...we couldn't do anything. We were too weak, and It was too strong. It...it tried to eat me. For real, this time. I think if...if it hadn't been for Stan, and whatever brought us all back, I wouldn't be...I wouldn't have..."

Bill stood up as well, his hands coming down to rest on Eddie's shoulders. He could tell that the shorter man was close to panic. "Listen to m-me, Eds. It's okay, yuh-you're alive, you're all fuh-fine."

Eddie nodded and reached up with both hands to wrap around Bill's wrists, not removing his hands but moreso trying to ground himself. "Stan....Stan saved me. He was so scared, we both were, but he just stepped forward and It _flinched_ and then...I felt Georgie get ripped away. It was violent and quick and it hurt Pennywise a lot. It kind of hurt me and Stan also, because we were all sort of connected in the deadlights, and then Stan was gone, too...and Pennywise was screaming. It was in pain and It said something to me, then, I-It turned and wh-whispered..."

Eddie's hands were shaking as he cut himself off, his whole body shaking violently with fear.

Bill felt his own forehead beginning to dampen with sweat. "What did It say?" he asked frantically, his hands squeezing tightly. He felt somehow like the answer to this question was of grave importance, like it could and would change _everything._ He didn't even notice his stutter had all but vanished. "Eddie, talk to me, what did It _say?!"_

Eddie shuddered and looked up at Bill with a terrified expression. 

"I don't know. I woke up in the sewers before I could hear It." he breathed softly, barely a whisper. 

Bill had the strangest feeling like he had just dodged a bullet, eyes wide and confused even as Eddie's eyes darted down and to the right. The professional driver's fingers reached up to brush against his own face and he turned away as Georgie ran up with the rest of his toys in a basket he had procured from the front of the store. "Billy, I picked 'em! Lookit how cool these are! I've never seen so many neat toys like this all at once!" Georgie gushed, displaying his three small toys and three large ones.

In Georgie's basket in regards to big toys was a Lego set to build a lighthouse, a medium sized castle complete with a moat and a dam you could fill with water around it, and what looked like a board game called Scene It. His three smaller toys were a pair of silly Groucho Marx glasses complete with a nose and mustache, a book called Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark, and a Barbie doll with long red hair. 

"She looks kinda like Beverly, huh, Billy?" Georgie asked as Bill inspected over his choices. He nodded his agreement and pulled a cart from the side, glancing at Eddie in poorly disguised concern when all he did was add Georgie's other toys to the cart as well.

"I...I think I'll wait for you in the car." he finally said, stepping out of the store with a small wave in their direction. Bill watched him go somewhat sadly and sighed, before turning his attention to back to Georgie.

* * *

Eddie bounced his leg in the convertible, fidgeting and feeling decidedly...off. It was like he felt like he needed to drive in an oddly specific direction, but each time he went for the key in the ignition the strange sensation would vanish. This happened four times before finally Eddie shook his head and started the car, mentally apologizing to Bill as he backed out of the parking space. 

Being behind the wheel again was exhilarating. Eddie let his eyes fall shut in contentment for a moment before that strange niggling sense that he needed to go somewhere returned. He bit his lip, waiting for it to abruptly vanish again.

Except this time, it didn't.

Eddie didn't focus on it too closely, not wanting to somehow scare the feeling away, because he could feel that this was important. He had somewhere he needed to be, and quickly.

He let the car drive him, turning on instinct and before he knew it, he was coasting down the same street he had once ridden on his bicycle so often as a child, on the way to the only destination outside of his own home his mother would ever approve of: the pharmacy.

And there was the alley where he had helped Ben patch up his injuries. If he squinted he could almost see them all back then, squatting over a prone form in the alley-

-except there were four of them crouching over Ben then, five if you counted Beverly, and right now it was just one man kneeling over a prone form-

Eddie stomped on the brakes as he got closer, brown eyes widening in horror as he realized the man on the ground of the alley lying so still he looked nearly dead was _Richie-_

Beverly was there, too, blood gushing from her nose like a waterfall and leaving dark stains on her pretty blue coat. She didn't seem to care, as she had procured a pocket knife from somewhere and was now appearing to be desperately trying to stick the third figure with it even as the man raised his leg to kick Richie in the stomach again. The dark haired man just laughed and grabbed her wrist, twisting it behind her back until the knife slipped between her bloody fingertips, managing to dodge her violent kicks in his direction. 

Eddie felt rage like he had never felt before cloud his vision, and before he knew it, he had gotten out of the car. After everything he and his friends had gone through together in this town, after fighting an inter-dimensional evil that fed on children, a damned mugger would not be taking the lives of his friends. Not today.

He grabbed the man by the back of his jacket and shoved him into the wall, kicking the knife until it slid under the dumpster. He didn't want to see anyone else hurt the way Mike had been just a few days ago.

"What the fuck are you doing!?" Eddie demanded, not even caring that this man was closer to Richie or Ben's height than his own. He was fueled by anger and his anger didn't care if this guy was six feet tall or twenty. If he was going to hurt Beverly and Richie than he was toast.

The man rolled his eyes almost easily before breaking out of Eddie's hold, shoving him backwards towards Beverly. She caught him to stop him from falling, shooting the man a murderous glare and baring her teeth. Eddie had only ever seen her this feral looking when they fought It and when It took the form of her father.

The man shook his head slowly, gesturing to Eddie in almost disbelief. "Another boyfriend, Bevvie? God damn, you sure know how to pick 'em. A damn midget with a broken arm is gonna swoop in and save the day?"

And oh, _now_ Eddie knew who this was. This was the creep who beat on Bev for years, and...

His attention was drawn to Richie, who was trying slowly, way too goddamned slowly to get to his feet. He coughed once and sticky red dotted the pavement, causing fear and horror to lurch in Eddie's chest. How badly was he hurt?

Tom glanced to him in disinterest, before he reached into the back of his belt loop and removed a plain black handgun. Bev stifled a gasp and Eddie's eyes widened in true terror. This couldn't be happening, only minutes ago he had been toy shopping with Georgie and Bill and now he was about to be forced to see Richie die, the man that he lo-

No. _No!_

"Tom, DON'T!" Beverly screamed in a mix of anger and fear, lunging to throw her body over Richie's protectively and forcing him back to the ground. He groaned in disorientation before passing out again, his pale skin and dark hair contrasting with the dark grey and striking red of the cement and blood under him. If not for the circumstances it would have almost been beautiful.

Tom advanced on Beverly and Richie almost lazily, spinning the chamber of the weapon before he pulled back the hammer and raised it. "I told you, Bevvie. I told you and I told you and you never fucking listened, did you?"

Eddie stumbled backwards for the mouth of the alley, seeing an escape. Beverly's scared green eyes darted to him for a moment, tears beginning to run down her cheeks. 

"Go get help! Run!" she begged, her fingers holding Richie's head off the ground protectively and refusing to budge from over him.

Tom's icy blue eyes narrowed dangerously and he smirked as he watched Eddie bolt from the alley, disappearing out of sight. "That's who you're gonna pin your hopes on, Bevvie? Some queer with an attitude problem? Heh. I thought you had better taste than that."

He aimed the gun at Beverly and Richie, a lazy smirk inching its way onto his lips. "Wonder if you're as pretty on the inside as you are on the outside. I've always wondered..." Tom blinked and trailed off even as Bev bit her lip and curled around Richie, closing her eyes and bracing for death. She wouldn't leave Richie to die even if it meant being spared.

Tom froze as he heard a car start, heard tires squealing on the asphalt, and then-

-an engine roaring, thundering down the alley, too close, too-!

_-crunch._

An almighty crash echoed down the alley, the sound of steel scraping against brick and mortar.

Bev's eyes shot open, looking up to see what had just happened, before freezing. Eddie sat behind the wheel of Richie's beautiful red convertible, heaving in deep breaths. His hands were clenched tightly around the steering wheel, knuckles white and face pale. The front of Richie's car was now firmly planted in the side of the deli, smashed rubble and twisted metal smoking faintly.

Pinned between the wall of the building and Richie's car was Tom, screaming in agony. He wailed something, dropped the gun and screamed again, his hands frantically grasping for his legs, which had been thoroughly crushed between the wall and the car in an instant.

"You fucking crazy fucker you broke my goddamned legs!" Tom howled, pounding on the hood of the car and heaving in gasps of air. His face was very pale, lined with sweat, and he was clearly in an incredible amount of pain.

Eddie got out of the car and raced over to Beverly and Richie, crouching beside them and ignoring the sounds of Tom's shrieks and the sirens that were rapidly approaching. Figured that the Derry Police Department wouldn't show up until after most of the excitement was over.

Bev tugged Eddie into a hug, still supporting Richie's limp head with one arm. She sobbed openly, pressing a chaste kiss to the shorter man's cheek. "Y-you saved us, you-"

Eddie shook his head, fingers gently probing Beverly's nose and face for signs of injury. Her nose was definitely broken and he was worried about her wrist from where Tom had twisted it. "N-no, I didn't. Tapped the gas instead of the brake. Was an accident." he lied easily, biting his lip in worry as he switched his attention to Richie.

When the police finally arrived, they found one of the nicest cars to cruise Derry's fine streets in years smashed into the old deli, a man screaming obscenities at the front, pinned to the wall from the knees down and swearing he would kill them for this. His words were directed at the three people on the ground, a short man in a hoodie, a woman in a blue coat with fiery red hair that flowed down her back like a waterfall, and an unconscious man who looked strikingly like Richie Tozier, the famous comedian and performer. But surely it wasn't him, things like that just didn't happen in Derry.

Right?


	35. If It Keeps Me Driving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike heads to the store in Eddie's car, retrieved from the airport to pick up Bill and Georgie and explain what's happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a short chapter, I've been a little sick lately :( Hope it will pass. Anyways enjoy!

Bill knew something wasn't right when he stepped out of the store to find Richie's sleek red convertible gone, Eddie nowhere to be found. He glanced down at Georgie, the two of them loaded up with bags from both the promised toys as well as all the clothes and supplies a six year old could want for the near future.

"Our ruh-ride ditched us, Georgie, c-can you buh-believe that?" he asked in a somewhat joking tone, but inwardly he was worried he had scared Eddie with all the questions about the deadlights and what had happened inside them. Georgie just shrugged, content to flip through his new book as they waited.

Suddenly two ambulances shot by, lights flashing and sirens wailing as they headed for the hospital. Bill blinked in interest before a navy blue Lincoln Continental squealed up to the curb, Mike behind the wheel and looking unnaturally serious. "Get in." he instructed, leaping out to help Georgie shove bags of things into the backseat. Bill shot Mike a look of confusion but did as he was asked, clinging to the leather armrest as the car lurched forward and followed behind the ambulances.

Bill's stomach sank with dread and he looked over at Mike with panic in his eyes. He just knew in his heart of hearts that someone he cared about was hurt, maybe even more than one... "Who i-is it? Wh-What huh-h-happened? Was it Buh-Bowers?" 

Mike shook his head, tongue darting out to wet his lips briefly before he glanced over at Bill. "It's....it's Richie. And Beverly and Eddie, but mostly Richie."

Bill's heart sank. "Ruh-Richie..? What huh-h-huh-hap-" Bill cut himself off as his lips stubbornly refused to spit out the question.

Georgie piped up from his place in the backseat, leaning forward. His face was scared and concern evident in the purse of his lips and the furrow of his brow. "Is...is Richie gonna be okay, Mikey?"

Mike glanced into the rear view mirror and gave Georgie a shaky smile. "The doctors are going to do everything they can for him, alright?" Bill swallowed nervously, trying not to let on how worried he was. Mike was always cool, calm, and collected, to see him struggling to hold it together was very telling. 

"T-Tell me, Muh-Mike, what..." 

Mike glanced into the backseat and saw Georgie blinking his big brown eyes back at him expectantly. "It's not really a story for kids..." Mike began apologetically. Georgie huffed and crossed his arms over his small chest, looking affronted.

"I wanna hear about Richie!" he whined, bouncing in his seat a little for emphasis. "I'm a big boy, I can handle it!"

Mike let his eyes drift questioningly over to Bill, who shook his head ever so slightly before wiggling his fingers to indicate for him to tell the story, but censor things.

The librarian nodded in understanding before he began. "Okay...so, Beverly and Richie went for a walk. Beverly's ex husband found them, and he's not a very nice man. He...he hurt Richie a little bit, and Beverly too, so the nice ambulance people are going to take them to the hospital to make sure they're all right."

Georgie bit his lip and nodded slowly. "I...I gotcha, Mikey. So are we gonna go visit them now?"

Bill nodded. "Thuh-That's right, Juh-Georgie." Worry still remained pooled in his stomach; how on earth had Tom Rogan managed to track Beverly down? And why had he attacked Richie? 

Bill's hands fiddled with the sun visor as he turned and spoke to Mike. "What about Eddie? You said he was there, too?" 

Mike sighed wearily, glancing in the backseat to see Georgie had opened his book and was skimming through it, fascinated. He kept his tone light in case the six year old was still listening. "Eddie saw them fighting and was scared. He...he stopped Tom, but...he might be in a little bit of trouble, now. Legal trouble. Stan and Ben are trying to handle that part, now."

Bill's head shot around in disbelief. "L-Legal trouble? Why?"

Mike lowered his voice, lips barely moving. Even sitting in the passenger seat, Bill had to lean closer to pick up what he was saying.

"Tom had a gun with him, Bill. He was going to kill Richie and Bev. Eddie got away, but...he got in Richie's car and took that bastard's legs right out from under him. Sounds like he might lose the one, paramedics weren't really sure. That's why the cops are there, too, to take a statement before any arrests are made."

Bill's head was reeling and he felt frustration and regret pool in his stomach, hot and sick. "Y-You mean ah-after everything...Eh-Eddie still muh-might go tuh-to jail?"

_(i made it happen billy boy it was me all me and no matter how much you fight it all ends the same)_

Bill shook his head to clear his muddled thoughts, anger rising for no real reason. "Fuck." He said instead, hands clenching against the armrests of Eddie's car. It was beautiful and obviously well taken care of. "Cuh-Can Eddie ah-afford th-the bail if th-they arrest huh-him?"

Mike's lips darted into a thin line. "I think so, but the real question is will they give him the chance? The cops were talking about aggravated assault with probable cause, one of them threw out attempted vehicular homicide with the intent to cause serious injury. If that charge sticks, he'll go away for a long time and there's not a damn thing we can do about it." His eyes stayed on the road, hand clenching around the steering wheel.

Bill's heart sank miserably. "Wuh-What are Stan and Buh-Ben d-doing?" he asked, feeling less than useless. After all of their plans, after everything they had gone through together, all it took to ruin everything was one man: Tom Rogan.

Mike sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and pulling into a parking space at the hospital. "Stan's got some legal experience from his years as an accountant, not to mention he said something about having some connections that might be useful in this context. Ben went with him, but he said he was going to head to the hospital as fast as he can to be there for Richie and Bev."

Bill undid his seatbelt and opened the door with one hand, shooting Mike a nervous look. "Duh-Do you really thuh-think Stan cuh-can help..?" He stared over at the librarian nervously, as if awaiting a response that would simultaneously soothe his own concerns and make this whole situation go away.

Mike inclined his head briefly, his expression calm. "I think that Stan thinks it'll help. And to be honest with you, if Stanley Uris tells me to bet on black, I'm damn sure going to do just that." 

With that said, he opened the car door and the three of them headed inside to wait.


	36. Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan, Ben, and Mike stumble upon the scene of the crime. Stan the Man has a Plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who enjoy BAMF!Stan or Protective!Stan, I've got good news for you. ;)

Stan's face was a blank mask as he sat outside of the diner in Ben's cream colored midsized sedan, fingers drumming on his knee as he watched and waited for the man using the payphone to finish. Ben was in the driver's seat, biting his lip and feeling like he could practically smell the nervousness rolling off of Stan. He had been the one to insist they come here, after saying he needed a chance to go to the closest payphone and make several long distance calls. 

Ben wasn't sure who exactly Stan was planning on calling, but he had stepped into the diner with twenty dollars in cash and he had come out with his hands overflowing with quarters.

"This might take awhile." he had said apologetically, but Ben just inclined his head.

"Do you think this will help Bev, Eddie, and Richie?" Ben asked simply, looking up at Stan with a trusting and curious expression.

Stan nodded, his expression sure and resolute. "Yes. It will. I _know_ it will."

Ben stared up at Stan for a second before nodding. "Then take all the time you need."

Stan began to slip the quarters into his own pockets, biting his lip and fighting a curse as a few slipped from unsteady fingers. "I'm sorry, I'll go as fast as I can. I know you want to be at the hospital with Bev and Richie..."

Ben bit his lip as he remembered how panicked he, Stan, and Mike had been on the way back from the airport.

They had finished picking up the cars without a hitch. Mike was driving Eddie's Lincoln and Ben was driving himself and Stan back towards Mike's house when suddenly he felt the oddest sensation coarse through his body. His head felt foggy for an instant and it was like he could sense that something was coming. Something bad. It was just like his dream of only the night before except much stronger. It was a very real feeling that something had crossed over, as if Ben knew that something was on its way to hurt them.

"God..." Ben had whispered in horrified realization, as the two cars fell into step behind a police cruiser with its sirens flashing. "Whatever it was that was coming, it's here, we're too late to stop it now..." Stan had shot him a serious and confused look, before Ben slammed on the brakes right outside the pharmacy, spying police and paramedics swarming the alley. 

Stan's intelligent brown eyes darted past all the confusion, and his heart sank as he spotted a paramedic helping Beverly wipe blood from her face near the back of an ambulance.

"Christ." he breathed, true fear evident in his voice, and then both of them were scrambling for the door handles. Mike was hot on their heels, evading the police even as the yellow tape was tugged across the alley. 

Stan shoved past a cop irritably, hearing low moans from the alley, and froze as he spotted the whole scene laid out before him.

A man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes was trapped between Richie's sports car and the wall, moaning lowly as the paramedics began to try and separate him from the carnage. Eddie was biting his lip nervously as police surrounded him, badgering him with insistent questions while reminding him he had the right to remain silent, even as he tried to slip past to get to the paramedics who were gently moving a tall but skinny figure onto a stretcher-

-Stan's heart stopped as he spotted dark curls and a purple hoodie over a hideous Hawaiian shirt-

One of Richie's lanky arms slipped from the stretcher to dangle in the empty air, swinging oh so lifelessly. A single ruby red droplet of blood slid down his arm to slip off the tip of his finger and splatter on the ground of the alley with a sound that would keep Stan up at night in the future. Had that been what his own blood sounded like, echoing off the thick tile that night he had taken a bath? 

A hand abruptly clamped onto his shoulder. "Sir, you can't be here, this is a crime scene." A cop steered him back towards Ben and Mike, and Stan was too stunned to fight it. It was only after Mike pulled him into a tight embrace on the other side of the line that he realized that he was crying, sobbing deliriously out of fear and frustration. Why couldn't things just go their way, for once? Why did life have to take itself out on them all, over and over again?

After a few long moments of comfort Stan gently pushed Mike away, clearing his throat as he tried his best to compose himself. "I need to make some calls." he had said thickly, voice still somewhat wrecked from the force of his anguish. 

Ben looked longingly in the direction of the ambulance Bev and Richie had gotten into, before turning back to Stan with determination evident on his features. "I'll drive." 

That was what had led them here, to a diner on the edge of Derry. Stan wouldn't explain who or why he was calling, but had requested a notebook and a promise that Ben wouldn't mention this to anyone.

A somewhat unsure and confused Ben finally agreed, trusting Stan to make the right decision in this scenario.

He watched Stan in the phone booth, watched his lips move and was glad for a second that his grandmother had often watched TV on mute with no subtitles when he was a child. It had been boring at the time, but he could now read lips fairly well as a result.

For the first three phone calls, Stan had his back to the car, so Ben couldn't see anything. On the fourth call, however, Stan shifted his position so that his face was visible from the car.

Some of the things that were coming from Stan's lips didn't make any sense, however. Or perhaps Ben just didn't have the right context to understand them. 

_"Yes, this is he. Stanley Uris."_

A long pause, his face twisting into a grimace. _"Clearly you've been taken in by rumors and heresy. In your line of work I'm sure you're familiar with the occasional disappearance, especially considering our past... interactions."_

He stopped, leaning against the back of the booth and sighing, a few locks of his curly hair bouncing on his forehead as he did so. _"Listen to me, I did you and your boys a solid favor for years. I need to cash it in. Right now."_

There was a terse expression on his face, a sort of hesitant reluctance that didn't fit the tone of the words he was using. His hand clenched around the receiver tightly and he bit his lip for a second. _"I need to make sure the right people handle a specific case. I want it dismissed before it can even go to trial. If you can't do that, I want the prosecutor to disappear. Can you make that happen?"_

Ben's eyes widened as he continued to read Stan's lips. This didn't sound like the conversation of a casual acquaintance, and even though he was beginning to suspect what or who Stan was talking to was someone who operated on the grey line of the law, he didn't want to see Stan get himself in trouble trying to keep Eddie out of it. 

He watched as Stan gave details on the case, listed names of all the parties involved, and then whipped out his wallet to rattle off a long string of numbers. Finally he seemed to relax, leaning up against the side of the booth with a contented expression on his face. _"Thank you. I hope to see results within the next few hours. Don't worry, you won't hear from me after this. Yes, I know it's unfortunate. I'm sure if you need financial advice again that Mr. Alan Jervis at my old office would know similar evasion avenues as I did. Yes. Yes, that's- yes. Okay, thank you for your time."_

Ben coughed and drummed his fingers along the steering wheel, looking away as Stan hung up and slid out of the booth, stepping over to the car and sliding into the driver's seat. He stared ahead and sighed, slipping his excess quarters into his pockets. 

"I meant what I said earlier, Ben." Stan said finally, still not meeting his eyes. "Nobody finds out about this. Okay? Nobody. Not Beverly, not Richie, not even Bill. This stays between us." 

Ben gulped at the somewhat ominous tone to Stan's voice, but nodded again. "Of course not. I promised you I wouldn't." 

Stan finally turned to face him, and in that instant, he looked very old. There were bags under his eyes and lines at the corners of them that hadn't been there when they were kids. He looked tired. 

"I mean it, Ben. This isn't just about keeping a secret. This could bounce back and have serious repercussions. If it does, they can't know you're involved. Anyone you tell will be in danger, too. This way, it's just me." His voice was strong despite his appearance, and Ben felt a flutter of real fear shoot through him. 

"Jesus, Stan, who the hell did you just call? The mob?" Ben asked frantically, eyes darting from side to side as if not wanting to meet Stan's serious gaze. This had escalated a little too quickly and Ben wasn't sure what to make of Stan's behavior. 

He didn't expect Stan to swallow thickly and glance away. "Well...n-not the mob, _exactly..."_

Ben did a double take, jaw dropping. "Did...did you just call a hitman on Tom Rogan? What did you do?" 

Stan settled back into his seat with a weary sigh, his fingers rubbing his temples. "I used to be an accountant back in Atlanta. One of the best, I'm not ashamed to admit. I got this client, probably twenty years ago, some guy who was looking to invest and get his money tied up in stocks. Trying to trick the IRS, keep their hands out of his money. Old tricks and he did them sloppily, he didn't get very far. Same thing I've seen countless old bags try to get away with. He was in danger of being arrested for tax fraud. He came into my office and told me that if I could get him out of this, he'd make it worth my while. Well...you know me, I didn't care so much about the money. I was making a pretty heavy wage, I didn't need his money. What I wanted was his connections, and so I helped him out. It wasn't hard, you just have to know how the system works. Tax free municipal bonds, Swiss bank accounts, and my personal favorite, the charitable IRA distribution. You can legally give up to 100,000 dollars to a charity without paying tax on a penny. And if you happen to own that charity? Well, let's just say I made several powerful men very wealthy..." Stan gave a sort of dry chuckle to himself as he buckled his seatbelt. 

Ben was staring at him in something like awe, as if he was seeing Stanley Uris for the first time. His pale green button up was immaculately ironed and perfectly straight, not a button out of place. His slacks were a similar story, and even though his own patent leather shoes had been soaked in Eddie's blood and sewage back in the cistern, Mike had loaned him a rather smart pair of finely polished black dress shoes. He was perfectly put together, not at all the type of man who looked like he would be vindictive or protective. It just went to show that appearances could be deceiving.

"So...those same powerful men owe you a favor? What are they going to do...?" Ben asked somewhat breathlessly. He couldn't believe Stan had kept this hidden up his sleeve for years, the perfect trump card waiting to be played at just the right moment to leave him with the winning hand. 

Stan drummed his fingers along the seat. "Well, see, it's mostly with computers. As we speak, a hacker employed by one of my former clients is generating phony arrest warrants, unpaid back taxes, and a restraining order from Beverly against Rogan. It'll be backdated to about two weeks ago so that it will be clear he violated the terms. I also told him to go through Eddie's records to get rid of anything the prosecutor's lawyer might dig up to try and shift the blame around to put him away. It's likely clean knowing Eddie, but it never hurts to be sure. I also had them add a no contact order from Richie, put something in there about Rogan being a crazy fan. Anything that will make it very clear what kind of person he is will help to keep him away from Richie, Beverly, and Eddie. He'll never touch them again, not while I still have air in my lungs." 

Stan allowed the slightest smirk to grace his delicate features. "And, of course, there's the fact that Richie is a very well known and respected comedian in most circles. I just sold the rights to the story of his assault to a prominent gossip rag called In Touch. As soon as that story drops, every Richie Tozier fan in the nation will be out for Rogan's blood. No lawyer in Maine will want to defend Rogan after the story leaks. I changed Richie's location, of course, to avoid paparazzi finding him or Audra here while they're trying to recover. The article will say he's recuperating in his mansion in Beverly Hills." 

Ben shook his head even as he started the car and headed towards the hospital. "You're a genius, Stan. A crazy genius with the self preservation instincts of a deaf and blind mouse. Don't you realize that if this ever gets out, if any one of those 'friends' of yours say anything, you'll be the one behind bars?" 

Stan let a small smirk dance over his lips. "Well, seeing as I'm legally dead for all intents and purposes, that's going to make arresting me rather difficult. Although if it comes to it, I suppose that would be what I deserve. Besides..." he swallowed once, his features growing serious again as he glanced over at Ben with an imploring expression on his face. "If you knew any of us Losers were in trouble, and you had a way you could stop it, even if it put you in danger, wouldn't you do anything? Give anything?" 

Ben blinked and was half tempted to disagree, but he knew that would be a lie. Even after he had moved away and forgotten them all, even though the memories of their shared childhoods even now blurred together like the cold water of the Kenduskeag he had stumbled into that day in summer twenty seven years prior, he would still do whatever it took to protect them all. 

"...anything." he agreed softly, as they drove down the long forgotten streets of Derry. 


	37. My Audra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Losers gather at the Derry Hospital to wait for news. Eddie makes a startling self discovery thanks to Georgie's help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Hope that everyone is having a great day today. Just wanted to ask a quick question: if there were to be a sex scene in this story, how would you want it written? Subtly implied but nothing actually shown, softcore description with no real smut, or a super descriptive smut chapter with the rating boosted to Explicit? Let me know your opinions, thanks guys! ;)

The rest of the ride to the hospital was taken in a comfortable silence, pulling into the same parking spot they had used only two short days prior when Mike had been in the hospital.

"I'm getting really sick of visiting our friends here." Ben commented lightly with a sigh, mussing up his brown hair as he stepped out of the car and locked it behind him. Stan followed suit, nodding in agreement. 

"Yeah, me too. Hopefully this will be the last time." he said somewhat wistfully, his leftover coins bouncing in his pocket. 

Ben sighed and stuffed his hands under his arms, the wind feeling chilly despite the fact it was only August. "Knock on wood." he said with a smile, but he was honestly only half kidding. 

When the two got inside, they spotted Mike sitting stiffly in a chair in the waiting room, a child's coat resting in the empty seat next to him. He looked up when they came in and got to his feet, biting his lip. 

"Beverly's going to be okay. They said she got lucky he didn't break her nose. She's gonna have a hell of a headache but she's not showing any signs of a concussion, just a mild case of shock and a sore face and head. The worst of it is that he...well, he dislocated her wrist when he grabbed her." Mike's tone was low but it went icy any time he directly referenced Tom or what he had done.

Ben felt a wave of red hot anger shoot through his veins at the idea of anyone wanting to lay a hand on a woman, much less on Beverly. She was so lovely and had the heart of a warrior, the idea of anyone trying to stifle that by beating on her made Ben feel physically ill. "But...she'll be okay? She's fine?"

Mike smiled warmly and reached out to clap him on the shoulder. "She's checking herself out right now. Against doctor's orders, I might add, but you know how she gets. As soon as she found out they wouldn't let her visit Richie while she was a patient she flipped the doctor the bird and headed for the front desk."

Stan smiled at Bev's defiance. As long as she knew her own limits and took it easy for the next few days, he was confident she would be happier out of the hospital than inside it. Caged birds were never as happy as free ones.

"Speaking of caged birds..." Stan murmured softly, earning an arched eyebrow from Mike, "Where's Eddie?" 

The librarian gestured to the ceiling. "Upstairs. The paramedics wanted to have him checked out for any signs of shock or injury. Tom shoved him at one point and so they're just being cautious. He said he was fine, but evidently it's protocol." 

Stan nodded, satisfied with that answer for the moment. "And Bill? Georgie?"

Mike smiled a little softer, a little more wistfully. "Visiting Audra. Her condition is unchanged, but...well, maybe you should see for yourself, if you've got the time."

Stan settled down in the seat next to Georgie's and nodded. "I've got nothing but time. I'll let Bill and Georgie see her first, though, just the two of them."

Ben settled down on Mike's other side, looking nervous. "Have they given you any word on Richie?"

Mike looked tired then, giving a weary sigh. "He's been drifting in and out of consciousness the entire way here, and they aren't sure if there will be any lasting brain damage. Tom kicked him in the head pretty hard, and his damn boots turned out to be steel toed. Not to mention the fact he pounded Richie's head into the brick at least seven times that Bev can remember."

Stan's hands clenched where they rested on his knees and he drew in a fast breath through his nose, nostrils flaring even as he closed his eyes and tried to calm his temper. Ben, sensing his anger was rising, reached out a hand to gently squeeze his shoulder. "It's done, remember? It'll all be okay. It's done."

Stan nodded, seeming to understand the double meaning of his words even as he relaxed. "Y-Yeah, you're right, I just....yeah."

Mike blinked at this exchange for a moment before his eyes darted past them and his lips broke out into a genuine smile. "Bev! How are you feeling?" 

Walking their way with her coat slung over her arm and bandages dotted along her face was Beverly Marsh, who seemed to be in the process of tearing her hospital band off with her teeth. "Fed up with doctors, I can tell you that much. I had about six different male doctors try to tell me that it was okay to be scared, that I should stay in the hospital, that I'm the victim here, blah blah blah. No. I'm not the victim here, not anymore. I'm done being the victim. When can we see Richie?" she asked, plopping down on Ben's other side and fiddling with the brace on her right wrist to get it to lay correctly. Ben, in a moment of bravery, reached over to gently help her get it lying comfortably before Bev squeezed his hand with a smile and didn't let go. A flush rose over Ben's cheeks but he didn't pull his hand away either. 

"They, uh. They haven't told us much of anything yet. Just that he's hurting and they're running tests."

The four of them sat like that in a gloomy sort of silence for a few minutes, until Eddie made his way down the stairs and over to the area they were waiting, a worried sort of expression on his face. "Have they said anything about Richie?" he asked softly, glancing over at them with concern evident in his face.

Mike shook his head, gesturing to the empty seat next to him in invitation. "Not much except they're certain he has a concussion. They're checking for internal bleeding now, since he was coughing up blood earlier..." Eddie sunk into it gratefully, biting his lip and fidgeting almost anxiously even as his face went ghost white at the description of Richie's condition.

"Damn it. Damn it! Why didn't I come sooner?" Eddie whispered to himself, anguish clearly visible from his body language. "If my fucking sense of direction w-wasn't _broken,_ I would have gotten there in time to do something!"

Beverly's head lifted from Ben's shoulder to turn in the driver's direction. "Eddie, don't do that to yourself. It's not your fault. What matters is that you came at all....if you hadn't...Richie and I wouldn't be here at all."

Eddie flinched away from her words like the comfort they offered hurt to even consider accepting. "No," he moaned somewhat brokenly, "I couldn't stop him. Couldn't stop him from hurting you, couldn't stop him from hurting _Richie-"_ Eddie cut himself off as he gasped for breath, fingers clawing at the hood of the borrowed sweatshirt as if clearing the material away from his neck would also unblock his airway. Ben's eyes shot wide and he reached over as if to help him. He hadn't seen his friend this shaken up and desperate for his inhaler since before he had learned all of his pills were simply placebos.

"Eddie? Eddie! Are you okay?" Ben asked, shooting a worried glance at Beverly, who bit her lip in realization.

"H-He lost his inhaler, it's down in the sewer somewhere-!"

Eddie wheezed heavily, his face beginning to turn red even as his mouth gasped open helplessly. His fists opened and closed beside his head and he looked like all he wanted was to just disappear. "Nngh...!"

Mike swore and looked around for clunky glasses and a Hawaiian shirt, remembering that the only Loser who had ever been able to talk Eddie down from an attack like this was Richie-

-and then his mind caught up with his instincts and he realized that Richie wasn't able to help Eddie right now. It was one of them or nothing at all. It had always been that way, Lucky Seven-

-Georgie appeared as if from nowhere, trotting down the hallway to wriggle his way up onto Eddie's lap. "Hi, Eddie." he said with a small smile, seemingly unaware of the man's current plight.

Mike blinked and bit his lip. "Georgie, Eddie's not feeling too good right now, he might need some space..." Despite his words he didn't move Georgie off of Eddie's lap, as the man had instinctively reached out to wrap his arms around the boy even though he was struggling to breathe. 

Eddie wheezed and forced himself to give a twisted sort of smile in response to the six year old's question. "H...Hi... G...Geo... Georgie..." 

Georgie bit his lip and reached up to poke at Eddie's nose. "What're ya gaspin' all funny for? Are you sick?"

Eddie breathed in slowly through his nose and seemed to be struggling to collect himself. "F...Fine. N-Not....not sick."

Seemingly contented with that answer, Georgie reached into his pocket and pulled out the pair of Groucho Marx glasses he had gotten at the store only two hours before. "Lookit what Billy bought me! I'm gonna show 'em to Richie and see if he'll teach me all the funny voices he knows how to do!"

Bev choked back a small sob, covering her mouth and leaning into Ben for comfort instinctively. He slid his arm over her shoulder and gently patted her arm, unsure of how Eddie would react to Richie's name when just the mention of it had set him off.

Eddie reached out with shaky fingers to take the glasses from Georgie, a small smile crossing his lips even as a single tear rolled down his cheek. "H...H'll.... teach you. He....he loves... t'mess with... Bill... even.... if that means.... teaching you... voices...."

Stan couldn't hold back a small smile, although his eyes were sad. 

Georgie frowned and took the glasses back, tilting his head up at Eddie curiously. "Why're you cryin', Eddie...? Is it 'cuz Richie's sick? He'll be okay, honest."

Eddie sniffled once, feeling less than pathetic. A six year old was comforting him, and worst of all, it was actually seeming to help. His chest didn't feel so intensely tight and he was able to draw in thin breaths.

Mike, Stan, Ben, and Beverly watched this carefully, ready to intervene if Eddie's condition began to deteriorate. Stan frowned to himself, glancing around at all the hospital personnel that were walking by obliviously, his brow furrowed in a question with no answer.

Georgie blinked as if realizing something, before he pouted towards Audra's room. "Ohhh, I get why you're so upset. Richie's like... your Audra, isn't he?"

Four pairs of eyes went wide, unsure of what Eddie would do or say in response to such an inquiry.

Eddie slowly drew in a full breath and let it out with a shaky laugh, his brown eyes blinking open to gaze upwards as if instinctively seeking out the room Richie was currently in, many floors above them.

"...yeah. Yeah, Georgie. I think that maybe....maybe he _is_ my Audra."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it only took 70,000 words and 37 chapters for Eddie to admit he might have a thing for our resident Trashmouth. Hopefully it doesn't take abouther 70,000 for them to actually become a couple.


	38. Get Through This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Losers continue to wait for any news on Richie and find out more information about Henry. Stan decides to go visit Audra and Bill and ends up comforting him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the length of today's chapter, real life and recovering from the holidays (combined with the flu that doesn't want to go away) has made getting a chance to write as often as I'd like to difficult! Hopefully you all still enjoy anyways!

The time seemed to pass by quickly after that, Ben and Beverly chatting amongst themselves quietly while Mike and Eddie gently spoke to Georgie. Stan picked up one of the nearby magazines and began to flip through it, but discarded it in disgust when he saw that there were no page numbers and the sudoku puzzle was already done by someone else. He set that magazine aside and thumbed through that day's newspaper, blinking when he spotted an article near the back that announced a patient at Juniper Hill Mental Institution was missing.

"Guys, they know Bowers is out." He gestured to the paper and the rest of the Losers crowded around to skim the paper.

"Let's see..." Mike murmured as he read aloud, his voice strong and warm like honey. "...Local authorities have just been informed the notorious Henry Bowers of Derry, Maine, was missing from his room at the nightly count three days ago. After combing the premises thoroughly, the police have concluded he is missing and thought to have escaped."

Ben took over, clearing his throat and turning the paper closer to his line of sight. "Bowers was responsible for a rash of child killings nearly three decades ago, with seventeen confirmed victims including Derry's own Thelma Daniels, Patrick Hockstetter, Eddie Corcoran, Betty Ripsom, and..." he bit his lip and glanced over at Georgie, who was wearing the silly glasses and sticking his tongue out at Eddie, then spitting as black false hair from the mustache got into his mouth. "...and George Denbrough." He murmured softly enough that the child wouldn't overhear.

Stan turned it towards him this time, brown eyes scanning over the paper swiftly. "Police theorize Bowers escaped sometime Thursday evening and is thought to be likely armed and dangerous. If any readers spot Bowers they are warned to not approach him, speak to him, or interact with him in any way, and are encouraged to phone the Derry Police Department with any tips at (913)-535-6280."

Bev huffed as the article ended, blowing a few locks of her fiery red hair out of her eyes. "They want a tip? I got a tip for them. Shoot him on sight." Her tone was cold but filled with anger at everything Bowers had done to them over the years.

Ben squeezed her shoulder once. "They'll find him, Bev. Now that It's dead, adults in Derry should start to...y'know. Care again."

Stan's brow furrowed as he listened, but stayed silent. He had been hoping the doctors would come with information on Richie soon, but at the current rate it was likely it could be awhile. So, his curiosity piqued and with the rest of the Losers seeming to be content where they were and settled in for a long wait, Stan decided to go visit Bill and Audra. He got to his feet slowly, gently scooting past Georgie who was using Eddie and Mike as a makeshift jungle gym and giggling quietly.

He stood outside the door for a long moment, staring at the room number idly. 207. The little plaque was beige, the number stamped onto it in pure white. It was simple and unappealing, and he wondered somewhat hysterically how many nurses had walked by this room without realizing one of the most famous actresses in the nation was resting just beyond that wooden door? How many of them would be kicking themselves later when or if it was revealed Audra had recovered there?

Stan took in a deep breath to hide his nervousness, and rapped on the door three times with his knuckles.

Silence, and then...

"Cuh-Come in." Bill's voice was muffled through the door, thick with sadness. Stan swallowed down a lump and reached out to wrap his fingers around the handle, giving a low sigh.

He steeled his nerves and the opened the door, stepping inside and closing it behind him with a soft and faint 'click'. Bill was sitting at Audra's side, biting his lower lip and glancing up to greet him with only the slightest inclination of his head, brown hair fluttering lightly as he did so.

"H-How's Ruh...Richie..?" Bill asked softly, looking up at the new arrival into Audra's room with a concerned expression.

"We don't know." Stan said apologetically and glanced over at Audra somewhat awkwardly. He felt out of place and wondered if he had made a mistake by visiting. 

Audra's blue eyes were cloudy and unseeing, her expression neutral even as she stared straight ahead yet saw nothing. Her long auburn hair had been messily done up in a long braid, and her hands were folded in her lap. She seemed unaware that she wasn't alone in the room.

Bill spoke softly to her, reaching out to squeeze one of her cold and thin hands. "Ah-Audra...this is muh-m-my fuh-friend, Stanley Uris. Stan, th-this is Audra, my wife."

Stan's worried expression softened as he sat himself down in the chair on the other side of her bed, cautiously and slowly reaching over to take her other hand in his own to shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Denbrough." he murmured quietly, looking up at her for any trace of recognition that someone new was touching her.

Her fingertip twitched lightly in his grip but other than that, she gave no sign she had even heard him.

Bill sniffled quietly next to her. "I...I-I'm sorry I...d-didn't come vuh-visit you f-for very long...y-you see, t-two of my d-dearest fuh-friends...th-they died. And s-some miracle, th-the same one that b-brought Juh-Georgie back from the duh-dead...it g-gave them _back to me."_

Stan's eyes flicked from Audra over to Bill, his lips thinning. He felt absolutely awful for making comments about Bill not caring about Audra, it was clear and apparent that he did. "Bill..."

The author kept going, fighting adamantly through his stutter. "Thuh-There's been a luh-lot on my muh-mind, Audra. I-I keep thinking a-about you, and how muh-much I love you, a-and how scuh-scared I am th-that y-you'll never... never..." He couldn't fight back the tears, however, and they slid down his cheeks like raindrops down a foggy window. He clung to her hand like it was a lifeline, shoulders shaking from the force of his sobs.

"I-I miss you....! I muh-miss you s-so much!" he wept, covering his eyes with one hand as if ashamed of his own emotions getting the better of him. Stan couldn't stop himself from standing, then, and coming over to carefully tug Bill into a hug, interlacing his hand with the one he had been using to hide his tears. 

"We'll get through this, Bill. We will. It'll take time and it may be hard, but with all of us back together... we'll all support you as best we can. You and Georgie _and_ Audra, okay? She's important to you, and so she's important to us. We'll get through this...we'll all get through this."

And as Bill clung to both Stan and Audra's hands, letting the scent of freshly ironed shirts and the faintest whiff of perfume drifting from the bed fill his nose, he had the lingering and persistent thought that maybe, for once and in spite of all their hardships, they _would_ all get through this.


	39. Not Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan faces the fact that the feelings Bill has for him are real, and has a small panic attack. Bill, and to a lesser extent, Audra, do their best to comfort him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 900 KUDOS you guys are insane *^* Not only that, but this story just hit the frontpage at number 20 ranked by total kudos. You guys are absolutely incredible and you got me cryin' in the club right now. ;~; I adore each and every one of you and just want to thank you so much for reading!

After a long moment where the hug seemed to continue on past what was strictly necessary, Stan gently pulled away, releasing his grip on both Audra and Bill's hands. 

"I...I'm sorry for what I said earlier." Stan murmured shamefully, turning to the side as if not being able to meet his eyes. He hadn't felt honest and true guilt like this over one of his own actions in a long time. Usually Stan was always very sure of what he was saying or doing, but something about Bill made him let his emotions run wild. It felt simultaneously freeing and devastating in equal measure. He didn't know what it meant for his usual routine if he was being affected so heavily just from Bill's supposed love for him. It was a jarring experience but...at the same time he was curious to explore it further. Bill glanced up at him and regarded him with a curious expression.

"Apol-ologize for whuh-what?" Bill murmured; confusion lacing his stuttering tone. His blue eyes reflected nothing but genuine concern that Stan was upset about something.

Stan bit his lip to stop another apology from escaping his mouth. He shouldn't have to apologize more than once, especially if Bill wasn't even listening to him. Finally he spat out through somewhat gritted teeth: "....For that comment I made earlier. It was... inappropriate and crossed the line. I...I'm sorry."

Bill's eyes darted over to Audra before returning to meet Stan's steady gaze, a single brow arching in silent unspoken question. "Stan..." he breathed between his slightly separated lips, his expression somewhat bemused. "I've ah-already forgiven yuh-you, Stan. I understand wh-why you were muh-mad...it's f-fine."

Stan blinked in a strange sort of unrelenting surprise; he couldn't believe how endlessly forgiving Bill seemed to be. "D-Don't you understand? I insulted your love for your wife! I...I was..." he trailed off hesitantly, instantly and completely feeling like he needed to hide his emotions from the woman in the bed nearby. She was a new variable and one he didn't have a plan in place to react to her, one that acknowledged her as more than a piece of living, breathing furniture. Bill shook his head and gave him an encouraging tilt of the head.

"You wuh-were...? Wh-what..?" Bill asked softly, his gaze darting from Stan's guilty expression down to his lips with a quick flick of the eyes.

Stan bit his lip and turned away, not wanting to admit his true feelings but doing so anyways with some reluctance. "I...I'm...I'm jealous. You...you still have Audra. Even if she's not all here, you can still...hold her and be with her. Feel her under your fingers and know that's she's... _r-real_ and not just a pleasant daydream that you'll never have again!" He stood abruptly and pressed his fingertips to his temples, the other hand coming across his midsection as if to block himself from any retorts that Bill had to offer. Thinking of Patty still hurt him, thinking of the woman that he had loved and married whose most prominent qualities turned out to be an exact match to Bill's, and terrified him that Stan had only married her for traits that reminded him subconsciously of Bill, the distant friend and compatriot he could vaguely remember only in his deepest of dreams. 

"B...Bill, I...my wife. I...I can never see her again a-after what I did..."

Bill's expression softened in understanding. "Stan...i-it wasn't your fuh-fault, you w-were being in-influenced by It-"

Stan cut him off, feeling awful as he did so. He had always made it a point to always give Bill the courtesy of waiting for him to finish speaking before he replied, no matter how long it took for Bill to spit out the words sometimes. It was the same with Bill, who had always painstakingly made sure to practice Stan's name enough that his lips were used to forming it without a stutter. "No, Bill, It wasn't. I...I did it _myself._ It was _me,_ not the clown! I was fully aware of what I was doing the entire time, I felt so lucid and everything was so clear. I had the full intention to end my life in that bathtub because I was too much of a f-fucking _coward_ to come back after everything a-and Eddie _died_ for it, and Audra's _hurt_ because of it-!"

Bill reached out and tugged Stan into a tight embrace, breathing out a quiet exhale of, "Shh...." into his ear. "It's al-ruh-right, Stan...luh-like you said, we'll all m-make it th-through this...."

Stan heaved in a shaky breath, shaking his head even as his familiar mantra seemed to flow from his lips against his will as it sometimes did when he was heavily stressed and trying not to show it. "I-I can't...can't do this, Bill, y-you've got Audra a-and I st-still care a-about Patty-! I-I loved her and I made her find my fuh-fucking _corpse_ anyways! Two isn't enough two isn't enough two isn't-" The words leapt from his traitorous mouth even as he reached up with his left hand around Bill's shoulder to try and physically block the words from escaping. Sometimes he genuinely hated his compulsions...

Bill hummed into his ear for a second, just holding him. Not in an intimate or smothering way, or even the way Stan sometimes imagined Bill would hold a lover. It was just a tender but overall innocent hug, an offer of comfort and grounding that Stan hated that he was in desperate need of. His eyes darted over to Audra as if in silent apology and found to his surprise she was staring directly at him, eyes still blank but her gaze was now being sent in his direction. Stan's breathing hitched and he tried to pull away from Bill instinctively, but the author had his back to his wife and didn't see. He loosened the embrace a bit but didn't let Stan pull away, instead gently murmuring; "He...th-thrusts his fists...ag-against the puh-posts..."

Stan's scared and guilty brown eyes locked with Audra's even as his own mantra fell like an apology from trembling lips: "Two isn't enough, two isn't enough-"

"A-And still in-in-insists...he sees the guh-ghosts..."

"Two isn't...two isn't..."

Audra's thin lips drew into the slightest of warm smiles in Stan's direction for a flicker of an instant before her gaze seemed to slowly drift back to listlessly staring off into space, her faint smile vanishing as quickly as it came. 

It felt like acceptance, or even permission, in a strange sort of way, and Stan wordlessly allowed his arms to come up to return the hug, Bill's own body heat warming his own wherever they brushed against each other. He blinked softly as he looked up and saw Bill's bright blue eyes, so suddenly so close to his own. A blush darted up to settle over his cheeks and nose, dusting the pale skin with the faintest touch of dusky pink. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth before he gently but firmly pulled away, letting his fingers slowly intertwine with Bill's. It felt like a goodbye, like something Stan had only known and had cherished for the slightest instant had abruptly and suddenly been snuffed out. His words when he spoke were hesitant and scared.

"I...It's too soon, Bill...I...I mean, I... I really do care about you, I just...with Audra, and P-Patty, I'm... I'm not ready...I..."

Bill gave his fingers a gentle squeeze and shook his head. "Stan...it's ah-alright..."

The accountant shook his head and slowly released Bill's hand. "I...I'm sorry. I...I shouldn't have...I'm sorry, Audra."

He turned to leave the room, and Bill found himself with just his silent wife for company yet again. The author sighed, not upset but still wishing that he could figure out a way to love them both. He adored Audra and Stan both equally, but without Audra's mind being present he could hardly discuss any sort of open relationship or even really settle their own. He reached out to take her hand, feeling the similarities and differences between her palm and Stan's.

Stan's was larger, broader and more square at the base of his thumb. His fingers were longer and he had a small writer's callous on his middle finger, likely from all those years of filling out tax documentation. His hands were smooth and warm, the kind of hands that looked more at home playing the piano or painting calligraphy than pushing papers and adjusting the zoom on a pair of binoculars. 

Audra'a hands, in contrast, were much smaller and more delicate. Her fingernails were perfectly painted with a delicate French tip, and her left hand was adorned with a beautiful yet simple wedding ring. The gemstone was a diamond that was more of a silvery grey tone than the usual sparkling white, but it seemed to suit her, somehow. Her hands were usually colder than Bill's, and she often wore a hand lotion that smelt of mangoes and pomegranates. That familiar scent was gone, now, washed away in the baptism of both the deadlights and Derry's sewers, and the evils that lay within each of them.

And as he lifted her hand into his own, his thumb gently rubbing over the back of her hand, Audra blinked and let out a soft sigh. 

Bill froze, his body totally still to see if she would do it again.

Audra remained silent, staring off into space as if she was engaged in a particularly good film that she simply couldn't tear herself away from.

Bill relaxed and bit his lip, warning himself to not get his hopes up as he settled back in his chair once again to wait for any news on Richie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: We finally hear some news on Richie!


	40. The Waiting Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and the others finally get an update on Richie's condition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry for taking so long to get to the scene you all are itching for, but I've intentionally put it off to give the reader the feeling of waiting. For those of you lucky enough to never have a loved one in the hospital after a traumatic injury, it's a lot of nervous waiting with usually no information, and I was trying to reflect that in the pacing of the chapters leading up to this one and the next few. Hopefully you all don't stab me for making you wait ;)

Evidently the excitement of the day had tuckered Georgie out, as he was soon curled up in one of the waiting room chairs, completely asleep, his toy glasses askew and the black mustache rustling slightly with each exhale he made. His left arm miraculously dangled over the side of the plastic hospital chair, fingertips just barely touching the ground.

Eddie fidgeted lightly in his seat nearby, biting his lip as the motion caused his borrowed sweatshirt sleeve to tug upwards enough to reveal his cast was now clean and pure white, an obvious contrast to the stained and marked up one from before. 

Mike, sharp as he was, noticed immediately, intelligent eyes darting over to Eddie's right arm with a small confused frown. "Your cast...what did you do to it?"

Eddie blinked and gave a somewhat startled sort of laugh, rubbing the back of his head nervously. "O-Oh, I...well, the doctors were doing tests. Making sure I wasn't in shock or anything after Tom.... They asked if there was anything else they could do, and my old cast was soaked in blood and sewage that they couldn't see, and even though I washed it and tried to keep it clean it was just...I wanted..."

He furrowed his brow, his eyes darting up to meet Mike's, warm brown to honey chestnut. "I...I wanted a fresh start. So I asked them to put on a new one. That's what took so long."

He reached down to tug up the sleeve so everyone could see the pure white new cast, blank and empty. Bev blinked and gave him a knowing smile that caused Eddie's cheeks to pinken as he glanced away with a small reluctant laugh.

"I...It made me feel bad to cut off the old one. Richie wrote 'loser' on it and replaced the 's' with a 'v' in red ink, just like old times. And I was scared that...that if he isn't okay, he won't be able to do it again. But...then I got this thought." Eddie murmured, finger drumming over the thick canvaslike cast with the faintest of noises. "Richie...no matter what state he's in, when he wakes up...he'll wanna sign my cast. And no matter what word he decides to put there, whether it's loser or lover or something else entirely...I want to be there to see it. To see what label he gives me now. Even though things are kind of...weird, with me and him, and I'm still trying to figure out what makes sense and what doesn't... I know that I have you guys and I have Richie. And that's enough." 

Ben smiled wide and reached over to gently ruffle Eddie's hair. "I'm so proud of you." Mike patted his arm and Bev leaned over Mike's lap to squeeze Eddie's hand, the driver flushing slightly under all the praise but at the same time feeling pleased that he wasn't afraid of his friends' touch. Not anymore. 

A doctor cleared his throat as he entered the waiting room, a clipboard tucked under his arm. "Who all is here to see Mr. Tozier?" he asked. All of them turned their attention to him in an instant, eyes wide and attentive. The doctor looked taken aback by the amount of visitors, glancing at each of them in turn.

"Well, Richard is awake, now. He's extremely disoriented and has sustained a severe concussion as well as two broken ribs, but as of right now he's doing fine. He's very...out of it, due to the pain relievers we've put him on, but if things go well he should be cleared to go home first thing in the morning. The ribs can be taped up and as long as he's resting and taking his pain medication there's no reason to keep him longer."

Eddie couldn't stop himself from interrupting, his fingers loosely entangled with each other as he spoke. "H-How can that be possible, I-I saw him coughing up blood-!"

The doctor nodded solemnly, flipping through his clipboard. "Yes, I understand your concerns, Mr. Kaspbrak... it says here that Richard was kicked in the face, it's highly likely he bit down on his tongue or the inside of his mouth due to the sudden shock and pain, and the blood was merely from that. We've done extensive tests and I can assure you he has no signs of internal ruptured organs or anything of the like. It'll be about three to four weeks of rest, but that can all be done from Mr. Hanlon's house, provided at least one of you are willing to keep an eye out to make sure he's resting like he needs to be."

Mike and the others nodded, before Bev blurted out what they were all wondering. "When can we see him?"

The doctor smiled wryly. "Well, he's awake, like I said, but very disoriented due to the painkillers. I suppose he could have one visitor at a time...he's been very insistently asking about the condition of a 'Missus Mahsh' and apparently he's got a pretty intense craving for spaghetti. Won't stop asking for it."

Eddie's eyes widened in disbelief as he jolted, as if shocked, as the sweeping realization that Richie was drugged to the gills and still wanted to see him first thing. His hands clenched on the armrests of the thin plastic chair and he looked ready, whether he knew it or not, to dart out of the chair and sprint to Richie's bedside if that was what it took to see his...well, he wasn't entirely sure what they were, but he still was desperate to reassure himself that Richie was alive and okay with his own two eyes. He settled back into his chair, however, discouraged, as his eyes landed on Bill coming out of Audra's room. Big Bill would get to see Richie first, he was the leader and that was how it worked.

Bill glanced from the doctor to the other Losers, to the way that they were all looking to be in various states of excitement and nervousness, to the way that Eddie was worrying his bottom lip and not meeting his eyes.

"You're...also here to see Richard Tozier?" The doctor asked in some amusement, his gaze sweeping over each of them in turn before settling back onto Bill. "Well, he's allowed one visitor at a time, at least until he's more lucid. Too much stimulus at one time can be unsafe to victims with severe concussions."

Bill glanced at the others, from the way that Ben kept glancing in Eddie's direction, Mike was looking him straight in the face with a look that gave almost a verbal warning, and Bev made a quick but unsubtle pointing gesture in the driver's direction, before wagging her eyebrows up and down at Bill in a silent promise that if he didn't let Eddie go first they were going to have a problem. The aforementioned man didn't seem to notice, his attention firmly fixed on his clasped hands and the floor in front of him, head bowed as if he was praying.

Bill gave a small smile, making sure to make a bit of a show of sitting down on Georgie's free side, picking his small arm up and tucking it under his body so it wasn't dangling uselessly anymore. "Wh-Why don't y-you go fuh-first, Eddie...?" he said casually, glancing his way to see the other man staring at him wide eyed with a horribly disguised expression of pure hope.

"M-Me? Are you sure..? It...it should be you, Big Bill, o-or Bev, he's probably worried about her-" A faint pink blush had graced Eddie's cheeks and nose, as if he was second guessing himself.

Bev tsked from her seat and leaned over Ben to teasingly swat Eddie lightly in the back of the head. "Eds, c'mon...don't keep him waiting! You know how impatient he gets, take any longer and he might just get up and come looking for you!" Her lips pulled back into an easy grin as Eddie met her eyes, a slow smile inching its way onto his face as he realized they weren't kidding, they really thought that Richie would want to see him first. Eddie got to his feet almost unsurely, but his steps were confident as he walked towards the doctor and followed him towards Richie's room.

"Go get 'im, tiger." Bev said with a grin, waving at his disappearing back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Eddie finally gets to see Richie, and gets an unexpected visitor.


	41. Molverly Marshwald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie gets a chance to see Richie, and he's very....high. Hilarity ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, hope everyone is ready for a little teeny tiny bit of happiness before the angst train comes rolling in, choo choo!

Eddie stood outside the door and stared at it for a long moment, unknowingly recreating the same scene that Stan had just experienced a few minutes ago, just three floors below where Eddie was standing.

His eyes darted to the handle and the doctor from before cleared his throat, causing Eddie to instinctively jump. "I will warn you...he seems to be quite fond of those Voices of his right now, so don't be alarmed if that's the only way he'll talk to you. It'll likely pass given time, but in case it doesn't...just, try to stay calm in front of him, if he gets all worked up he won't be allowed any more visitors."

Eddie bit his lip and nodded earnestly, as if concerned that the doctor would somehow strip him of the privilege of finally seeing Richie after all these long hours of waiting. "I-I understand."

The doctor smiled and he walked away, heels clicking on the polished tile as he disappeared into another patient's room further down the hallway.

Eddie steeled his resolve and opened the door, stepping inside.

The first thing that struck him was how utterly small Richie looked in the hospital bed. Even though he was all gangly limbs and he was splayed out as comfortably as a man his size could be in the standard bed, there was something somewhat saddening about seeing a creature of such light and energy like Richie confined to the plain white room.

The next thing he noticed was the IV, the long tube sliding down the length of the stand and disappearing under a bandage over the back of Richie's hand. There were two plastic clamps over his ring and middle fingers on the other hand, looking decidedly out of place next to the tobacco stains on his fingertips. His glasses were off and sitting on the nightstand next to him, folded up and cleaned. By some miracle the fight with Tom hadn't broken them any more than they already were. The fact that they were off gave Eddie an uninterrupted view of Richie's eyes, large and deep chocolate brown and glazed over with a comfortably haze of painkillers. His face lit up like the Fourth of July when he saw the faintest fuzzy outline of someone new in the room.

"Theeeeeeere you ah! Finahly, Ah say Ah say sirree as God as mah wi'niss Ah ain't nevah had to wai' so long for an'thin' in mah entire life, boy howdy Ah sweah!" He grinned as he talked, the Voice not nearly as wild or gesticulating as it would have been had Richie been at 100%, but when he was stuck in the too small room to recover, it was the best Eddie was going to get.

"R...Richie? How are you feeling?" Eddie asked, slowly approaching the prone figure and making himself comfortable in the chair beside the bed. Richie's eyes squinted into a thin line, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he leaned forward, nearly toppling out of the bed, before he recoiled in pleased recognition.

"Spaghetti! Spagheds... Spagheddie....! Spag... Eddie... Man!" he crowed, looked ecstatic to see him. His fingers reached out and made exaggerated grabby motions at the shorter of the two, while Eddie blinked in surprise and smiled softly. He let one hand reach out to meet Richie's, letting the warmth the older man gave off like a heater envelop his hand in a tight and firm grip.

"Hey, Richie. Are you...alright?" Eddie asked in concern, watching those deep brown eyes track across his face as if trying to decide if Eddie was actually here.

"Wha...? Yeah, 'course, mm good Speggs." Richie slurred happily, his hand squeezing Eddie's tightly in a sort of reassurance that the younger man was still in the room with him.

Eddie chuckled faintly and reached out to pluck Richie's glasses from the bedside table. "Did you just call me...? Never mind. Here, let me get you your glasses."

He unfolded them and handed them to Richie, who unsteadily attempted to put them on only to poke himself in the eyes with one of the temples. "Owwww..." he whined somewhat pathetically, his bottom lip wobbling and one dark eye squinted shut. Eddie couldn't help but giggle, reaching over to take them from Richie's hand and gently slipping them past the taller man's deep chocolate curls and blinking in a stunned sort of surprise as Richie cast an easy sort of grin up at him, lips slightly parted and his sparkling eyes locking with his. He felt his face burn from the sudden intimacy of the gaze, and the fact that Richie was now looking at _him_ like that, like he was something precious. All at once he became abruptly aware that Richie was still holding his hand. 

"Whoa....." Richie breathed like he was witnessing a religious experience, leaning forward even as Eddie hitched in a surprised breath and leaned slightly back away from his intense gaze.

"R...Richie, what are you..." he stuttered helplessly, the taller man's hand tightening so he couldn't pull away.

Richie grinned up at him happily, his eyes appearing even larger behind those clunky glasses. "You're a beautiful sight to wake up to, Eds..." he giggled, his free hand pointing in Eddie's direction. "Y're blushinnnn'! I made my lil' Spaghedward bluuuush what a cutieeeee~"

Eddie coughed into his fist somewhat distractedly, pointedly ignoring the way he felt his cheeks go hot. "Wow, you're really doped right now, aren't you?" he said instead, reaching over to smooth down a few of Richie's dark curls and carefully avoiding the bandages around the back of his head. 

"Mhmm, yeeeyuh, 'm on th' good stuff now, Eds. Wan' some? There's thizz... sexy nurse who g'ves me my fix. Not as pr'tty 's you, though... noOoBoDy is as pretty as MY SPAG- _hic!"_ He dissolved into frantic giggles, reaching over to grasp a few locks of Eddie's brown hair between his fingertips and tug gently towards him. "C....c'mere..."

Eddie bit his lip and reluctantly allowed Richie to pull him forward to lean his elbows on the edge of the bed. "Hey, what're you...oh God why am I trying to reason with you, you're not even listening to me-"

"Am so." Richie huffed, leaning forward so that he could wrap Eddie in a warm and surprisingly tight hug. "Mmm, y'smell good. Hey...heyyyy, Eds, where's..." He furrowed his brow as if trying very hard to summon a name to his mind. "Where's Molly at?" He asked finally.

Eddie made a small face of confusion, blinking as he tried to puzzle out who Richie was asking for. "Uh...do you mean Beverly?"

Richie nodded quickly and then moaned as the motion caused his head to ring. "Yeh, Molverly Marshwald. Her. My friend, my best fuh-reeeend. Her boyfriend is a douche canoe, Eds, don't ever try to give him a high five, he'll jack you right in the teeth like a jerk. A jerky jerkus Jew."

Eddie couldn't stop himself from laughing even as his fingers came up to gently disentangle Richie's hand from the front of his hair. "She's fine, Richie, but what the hell are you even talking about right now? You know your best friend Stan is Jewish, right?"

Richie's eyes widened and he looked intently at Eddie with his jaw dropped. "H...He _is?_ Ohhhh my Gooood why didn't he tell meeee?" To Eddie's endless amusement he looked almost on the verge of tears. "But...think of aaaaaall the jokes I've missed out on over the years! I COULD HAVE BEEN MAKING JEW JOKES ALL THIS TIME-!"

Eddie leaned forward to shush him, his pointer finger falling onto Richie's lips instinctively. "Richie, shush, you idiot. You know Stan's Jewish, you've made plenty of Jew jokes, promise. He even punched you for one of them when we were kids."

Richie clung to Eddie's wrist firmly with both hands and let his tongue dart out to brush against his fingertip with a quick flicking motion, Eddie's eyes widening and cheeks darkening further at this unexpected action. "Mmm, I'm glad, you'd never lie t'me, Edsy Boy."

Eddie curled his finger back down into a fist and tried to ignore the wetness on his finger from Richie's saliva. "Y-You're so out of it, Richie, oh my God I can't believe you're even awake at this point, why the hell did you just lick me..."

Richie giggled cheerfully and let his head wearily flop back on the pillow. "Don' wanna miss out on seein' you, Eds. Love seein' you."

Eddie felt his heart stutter for an instant and a small smile found its way onto his lips despite his best efforts. "I love y... _seeing,_ you too." he said, and was honestly surprised by how much he meant it. He felt an odd sort of fluttery warmth in his chest when the older man looked at him, when he talked to him, made his stupid jokes, and especially when he had hugged him moments before. He felt silly, crouching next to the bed with Richie's long arm looped around his shoulders and the other clamped around his wrist. It was something Eddie didn't know if he had ever felt about another person, this deep sort of affection, this longing for their company.... was this... could it be...?

"Eddie? Ohhhh, Eddie!" A shrill female voice called from the doorway, and the driver's eyes shot wide. There, standing in the doorway and looking flustered in all her glory, was Myra Kaspbrak.


	42. Meaning of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie is confronted in Richie's hospital room by Myra. Richie's untamable tongue turns out to be even more untamable when he's on painkillers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, you guys blew up the comments section on the last chapter! That's insane, thanks so much guys!! Sorry to destroy you all with the return of the ultimate she-bitch. :/ Hope this chapter doesn't ruin it for you guys, I promise that Reddie is still the destination and Myra is simply a large pothole in the road.

"M...Myra?" Eddie gasped in a bewildered sort of alarm, nearly flying back into his chair, tearing out of the loose embrace with Richie and clearing his throat. Richie's gaze tracked him with a mildly confused expression that became a sad sort of whine as Eddie left his reach once again, too disoriented to follow.

Myra Kaspbrak stood there, wearing a purple sundress that went four inches past her knees and bore a rather unflattering floral pattern. Her frame was large and took up most of the doorway, and her long nails were painted a bright angry red. Clutched in one meaty hand was her purse, and she burst into tears upon stepping into the room, flinging herself at Eddie.

"Oh, Eddddieeee, I missed you so much!!" she wailed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing his face into her plentiful cleavage as she ran those long nails through his hair. "What are you _wearing,_ Eddiebear? This isn't _yours..."_ Her tone trailed off accusingly as she glanced suspiciously from Richie to Eddie, taking in Eddie's flushed and nervous expression and the way Richie had cast his drugged up gaze in her direction with a scowl of distaste. He opened his mouth with what was no doubt a jumbled but scathing comment and Eddie clamped his hand over the other man's mouth before he could say it and make things worse. 

"M-Myra, it's...it's _great_ to see you...! Um...but... why are you here?" He asked softly, not even seeming aware that he had slipped back into his familiar habit of casting his eyes downwards, not speaking up, not daring to defy her openly for fear of her using her two greatest weapons against him: her words and her tears.

Myra shook her head and dragged another chair over to plop down into it, settling her massive purse onto her lap and scooting over to be closer to Eddie, one land clinging tightly to his shoulder as if to prevent him from moving away. "What am I doing here? What do you _mean,_ Eddie? Y-You said such _awful_ and horrible things to me over the phone, I knew you _must_ be terribly ill, so I got on the first flight here as fast as I could. Imagine how utterly _terrified_ I was when I got a call from some rinky-dink backwards hick town hospital like this, that you'd been admitted to set your broken arm and then right as I was getting off the plane, _another_ call that you'd been checked in so they could examine you for signs of shock after being _assaulted_ by some _man?_ What am I supposed to think, Edward? Just what exactly has gotten into you all of a sudden?!"

Eddie's face turned red in a combination of shame and embarrassment as he realized that of course she would be informed, Myra was his emergency contact. His left hand remained covering Richie's mouth to block what he was sure was a litany of comments Myra would not want to hear. However about halfway through her rant, upon realizing Eddie wasn't going to uncover his mouth and he was too delirious to move his hand himself, Richie settled for crossing his arms over his chest and licking the faded scar on Eddie's palm as if that was going to make him let go. Eddie's cheeks darkened but he couldn't help the tiny smile that seemed to creep up onto his lips against his will, even when he tried to smother it down. 

Myra's grey eyes narrowed as she realized that not only was Eddie _not listening_ to her with his full attention, but he was instead more focused on this unnamed man in the hospital bed than his wife who had flown across three states to be by his side. "Oh, I think I _know_ what's gotten into you, or rather _who's_ gotten into you!" Tears rolled down her cheeks, smearing her makeup, but her anger seemed unstoppable as she turned her attention to Richie, getting to her feet. "Just _who_ do you think you are?! Edward is _my_ husband and we are _very_ happy together and you're trying to infect him with your nasty little queer disease but it won't _work,_ the doctors fixed him before and he's all better now!" 

She didn't seem to notice the way Eddie had gone very pale, his eyes wide and scared as she stomped over and ripped his hand away from Richie's mouth like a child at a supermarket reaching for candy. "D-Don't you even _touch_ him, Eddiebear, he'll give you AIDS or HIV or whatever other sick twisted diseases those people carry!"

Richie's eyes darted from Myra to Eddie, the slight furrow in his brow making it obvious he was trying to keep up with this conversation and failing. Eddie's eyes were wide and he bit his lip, looking like he was desperately wanting to say something but couldn't quite figure out how to word it. Richie's eyes finally fixated on Myra and narrowed, hands clenching around the railings on the bed, and it was unclear how much of her poisonous and hateful words he had actually picked up on, until he spoke.

"Fuck....you." He spat out, slow and meaningfully. Myra gasped and her hand shot up to cover her heart, before turning an accusing look at Eddie. 

"D-Do you hear how he speaks, Eddie? Edddiiieee, don't let him say things like that to me, I'm your _wife!"_

Eddie looked terrified, looking from Myra to Richie and back again as if silently begging someone to come in and tell him what to do or say. He couldn't deny that something had changed since he came back to Derry, something _in him,_ something more than just finding out what his mother had Done. But he also couldn't seem to bring himself to speak a single word in Richie or his own defense, as if every scolding or scathing remark Myra or his mother had made over the years seemed to all culminate to right here, right now, leaving him speechless and scared of what was about to happen. Eddie shook his head in a stunned sort of disbelief, feeling abruptly and suddenly smaller than he had since coming home to Derry. "I...I..."

Myra, upon seeing that Eddie was in no state to tell Richie off for his words, turned to the man with a sniper and a scowl. "You don't deserve to even look at him, you filthy, dirty man! Polluting his head with all kinds of sick, twisted thoughts, really, you ought to be asham-"

Richie threw his head back and laughed loudly, cutting off her argument. Myra seemed taken aback, unsure how to react when this man seemed so unimpressed or cowed by her words. "Mm, hit the skip button, Spaghetti Head, I've heard this song before. Got it all memorized, even, howzabout that?"

Eddie bit his lip and went back to Richie's side, reaching out to take his hand between his own before he felt Myra's hand on his shoulder squeeze down, her fake nails digging into his skin almost like a warning. He pulled his hands back obediently. "R...Richie, hush for a second, I...I need to talk to Myra privately, but...I-I'll be back, okay? I promise. I'll be right back."

Richie suddenly froze, his eyes zoning in on Myra as if he was just now seeing her for the very first time. "You ruthless, manipulative, evil _bitch."_ he spat, and Eddie was stunned by the pure hatred in his tone. Even when Richie had spoken his now infamous line to the Devil itself, (or as close to it as they would ever know, before he cracked It in the face with a baseball bat) he hadn't sounded this truly angry, nor this truly disgusted. Myra blinked and took a stumbling step back as if the words themselves had shoved her, her long fingers coming up to cover her mouth even as more tears spilled down her face.

"Y-You can't talk t-to me that way-!" she gasped instead, turning to Eddie expectantly and sobbing harder when all he did was stare at Richie in a stunned sort of disbelief.

"You...poisonous _cow!"_ Richie carried on, unstoppable, fury in his eyes and spittle bursting from behind his lips as he got more and more upset. "You hateful, miserable, fucking _abusive_ woman! How dare you? How fucking _dare you do this to him?"_ Richie bellowed, the lines in his neck standing out from the force of his cries and his face growing red with fury. 

Eddie gaped in a stunned sort of horror; he didn't think he would have been able to stop Richie now if he wanted to. Myra's face was very white and tears continued to drip from her eyes like raindrops against a window, her purse clutched in front of her body as if she was trying to use it as a barrier to stop Richie's words.

"I...he, he's _hurting me Eddie make him stop right now-!"_ she shrieked in a desperate sort of demand, biting her lip and smearing red lipstick across her teeth.

And now Richie was grinning, laughing in a demented sort of way, his eyes still glassy to show that the amount of painkillers he was receiving hadn't changed since Myra had arrived. "Wanted to say that to you for _years,_ you evil bitch. You destroyed his whole childhood! All those days he could have been playing outside and being a fucking kid and you kept him bundled up in bed with lies about being sick! You never let him be himself, not _once!_ You even micromanaged his own marriage and tried to twist him into your own idea of a 'perfect' son! You fuckin' broke him down over and over and over again and I kept puttin' him back together for you, and sendin' him home jus' to watch you do it all over again! Well, no fuckin' more, I can't watch you destroy 'im anymore! Eddie's too fucking good for that. Too fucking good for _you."_

And, oh, _now_ Eddie realized. In Richie's current state of mind he thought Myra was _Sonia._

Myra, who was trembling violently and not tearing her gaze away from the man on the bed despite the fact that she was still bawling like a child. "Y-You can't say such things to me-!" she tried again, but upon being faced with a man who wasn't swayed by her words nor tears, Myra was utterly weaponless.

Richie had sat up, dark curls hanging in front of his eyes as his lips curled into a wicked sort of grin. "Shoulda listened to daddy, dearest. Tried t' warn ya, but you didn't listennnn~" he laughed, eyes firmly fixed on Myra now even as Eddie bit his lip and crouched next to the bed, trying to snap him out of whatever odd fit he was having.

"Richie? Richie, I need you to calm down-"

Richie laughed again, but this time the Voice that left his lips was not his own. It was similar to his Old Man Voice, but much more genuine. This Voice crackled lowly and gasped for air, the Voice of a man who ended each night with a shot of brandy and a snort of whiskey and ran his daughter's suitors off his property with a shotgun. The Voice of a man who had spent years trying to raise and teach his girls properly and failing with one. It was not a Voice Eddie had ever heard in person, but through the occasionally phone call when Myra pressed the phone to his ear and commanded him to bid her parents a good night. 

It was the Voice of Myra's father, Earl, who had died of lung cancer four years after Myra and Eddie had been wed.

"I done told ya, Myra, ye can't be treatin' yer boyfriends like children or pets, yer gonna drive any good man y'find away with behavior like that, and God have mercy on the one you do finally manage to drag down the aisle!"

Myra let out a sort of horrified silent scream of recognition, clutching at her face and reaching out to pull Eddie away from Richie's side almost violently. "No, _no,_ shut up, shut _up,_ you're...! Y-You're evil and I hate you! Eddddiiiieeee! We're leaving _now!"_ she bawled, yanking the door open so hard it slammed against the white walls and yanking Eddie through it by his left wrist, as a mother might drag a naughty toddler. The driver's eyes widened and he frantically whirled around to face Richie, who was staring at him with a desperate and stunned wordless plea not to go.

Almost out of nowhere, the lyrics to a song he and Richie had both adored as kids popped into his head: _"Gonna take a lot to drag me away from you~"_

 _'No,'_ Eddie thought shamefully as he bowed his head and was led away from the room, away from _Richie-_

_'I guess it doesn't take a lot, really. Not a hundred men, or fifty, or even ten. Just....just Myra.' _Eddie thought as he let out a soft and miserable sob under his breath.__

__He reluctantly and forlornly allowed her to drag him away from Richie, hating himself with each and every step that took him away from his bedside. Where he belonged._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Stan considers the idea that he might need some closure. Life gives it to him whether he wants it or not.


	43. Patty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan caves into his desire to contact Patty to check up on her. What he discovers is not what he had been hoping for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Please forgive me for the levels of angst in this story, I promise things will eventually lighten up, just try to bear with me! ;) I love you all!

After leaving Audra's room, Stan didn't yet head back to sit and wait for Richie with the others. He had one thing he wanted to do, something that arguably logic dictated didn't make any sense and was foolish in any regard, but he couldn't help himself.

He wanted to hear Patty's voice. 

Even at the risk to himself that she would recognize him somehow over the phone, he couldn't just give up any chance to hear from her again, to make sure she was okay. So, against his better judgement, instead of rejoining the Losers in the waiting room after leaving Audra's bedside, he disappeared down the hall to find a phone he could use.

He fiddled with the cord for a long while, twirling it around his fingertip tightly for a moment and watching it slowly darken to reddish purple, as if his subconscious was trying to distract him from making the call.

He cleared his throat once, trying to adopt a lower toned voice. Obviously he couldn't tell Patty he was alive, or let her find out by recognizing his voice, so he would have to make the call not as Stanley Uris, her husband who was mysteriously revived by a deity from another plane of existence, but as Walter Curtis, their old insurance agent, inquiring about the life insurance policy payout.

He steeled his resolve and dialed his own phone number, hand clenched around the phone tightly as if ready to slam it on the receiver should she act like she was onto him.

_Ring.....ring.....click-!_

_"Hello, Blum residence?"_

And there it was, her sweet, pleasant voice. Even though her words caused his heart to simultaneously drop into his shoes and leap at the same time, he licked his lips and spoke.

"Is this Patty? Yes, this is Walter Curtis from State Farm..."

_"Walter? Yes, how are you? What can I help you with?"_

Stan breathed in slowly through his nose and wondered if calling her was a mistake. Hearing her voice now, it was like she could be just on the other side of the room instead of hundreds of miles away from him. It made his heart ache because of it.

"Mrs. Uris, I was just calling to ask if the check for your late husband's life insurance policy has cleared the bank yet?"

A long pause, and then...

_"It's Ms. Blum, Walter. I already told you, I..."_

Stan swallowed hard and tried not to feel anguish at how soon she had shed his last name. He had to remember that he had left his body for her to find, had put her through a horrible experience. Of course she wouldn't want to have the memory of finding his mutilated body in her own bathtub attached to her name in such a permanent way.

"My apologies, Ms. Blum. I meant no offense, and if you don't mind my asking....how are you holding up?"

Patty sighed somewhat wearily, before giving a sort of strained and shaky laugh before she answered him. _"It's...it's a very peculiar situation, Walter, the doctors said that grief and PTSD can cause you to block things out, I suppose, I just....how likely is it that I subconsciously blocked out my entire marriage? My entire life with this man? People who came to the funeral had nothing but kind words about him, and when I look at photographs, I feel sadness, but can you believe I don't remember a thing about the man I married?"_

Stan felt cold, frigid, as if someone had just dumped a bucket of icy cold reality over his head. Of course. _Of fucking course._

_"Walter...? Are you there? I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to unload all my problems onto you...y-yes, the check has cleared the bank, the funeral home already deducted the total costs, and there's still so much left...I... whatever sort of man Stanley was, he must have been the sort to plan ahead...."_

Stan's mouth opened and closed helplessly like a fish. He couldn't believe how foolish and naive he had been. Even telling himself he would never be with Patty again, a tiny, idiotic part of himself had daydreamed of being able to return to her, somehow live out their perfect little life in Georgia again. _'How could I have been so stupid?!'_ he found himself wondering, and almost missed Patty's question. "Excuse me, ma'am, could you repeat that?"

_"I...what I had said was...oh, this is silly. From what documents I've looked through, I can see that Stanley and myself have been clients with you for the past two decades. Surely you interacted with him...could you... would you mind...telling me about him? All I can dredge up are... vague things. The scent of his shampoo. A horror book called 'The Glowing' that he never opened, it's still in the plastic, he must have not gotten a chance to read it... something about, a... a condition, he had? A mental illness of some sort? I can't remember.... schizophrenia? ...no, that's not right... he used to say something, over and over when he was stressed out... oh! 'Two isn't enough,' that was what he would say! Oh, dear, see what I mean? What kind of wife am I, to not even remember the simplest things about him?"_

Stan swallowed thickly, unsure of what to say. His hands were shaking, trembling so hard it was a miracle he didn't just drop the phone completely. Finally, the words flowed from his lips, unbidden. He didn't even seem to notice he was no longer talking in a lower tone. "He liked birdwatching."

_"...did he? Th-that explains a lot, there's several paintings in his study of birds..."_

"He also was Jewish, like you, but wasn't nearly as practiced in it as he wished he could have been. He...he had obsessive compulsive disorder that got so bad at times he could barely function. And that book? He didn't care for horror stories, he preferred guides on how to classify and organize things, the book was written by one of his closest childhood friends...." Stan inwardly warned himself to shut up, that no real estate agent would know these things, but his wife was asking him for information and who was he to deny her anything she asked after what he had put her through? "Stan wasn't as perfect as every made him out to be. He...he was scared, a lot of the times. Scared of the past, scared of the future...but he loved you, Patty. He loved you so much that it hurt. Never doubt that. When he...did, what he did, it wasn't because of you, or anything you said or didn't say, it was... a mistake. An accident. I'm sure that...if he could take it back, he would."

He heard her sniffle and whisper through the phone. _"Th....thank you...y-you have no idea what that means to me... but how, how could y-you possibly know all of this, Walter...?"_ There was a pregnant pause, and then a very small, tentative voice breathed out daringly, as if unwilling to hope, _"Stanl-?"_

He hung up the phone.

Stan stared at his own hand, white knuckled, still clenched around it as if half tempted to pick the damned thing back up and scream, 'yes yes Patty it's me I'm alive I'm real I love and miss you' but what right had he to demand that? To do that to her? No, he knew that he was doing the right thing by staying away, by moving on. Lord knew she would. She likely wouldn't even remember this phone call tomorrow; those tiny tidbits of information and details he had given her would slip out of her mind like water droplets from a leaky bucket. 

Stan would never get a chance to hold her in his arms and whisper sweet nothings to her, murmuring soft confessions of love and adoration while she smiled and kissed him gently, their bodies loosely entangled around each other in the glow of the pale moonlight, blue silk sheets pooling at their feet while the mahogany grandfather clock stood watch over them like an idol at the other end of the room.

And maybe that was for the best. Stan knew, knew the instant that Mike had called to tell him It had returned that his old life was over. Even before fumbling fingers had wrenched open a box of razor blades and drew them across his forearms, his life had ended. 

His new one began the instant he bolted awake in the sewers, pale and frantic and terrified of what lurked in the darkness of the cistern.

And with a new life, came new chances and new opportunities. Patty couldn't come with him into this new life, whereas Bill and the other Losers could. Perhaps...he _could_ allow himself the small bit of comfort they offered.

It still hurt, though. 

Oh, God, it hurt.


	44. Ballroom Blitzed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 41/42 from Richie's extremely blitzed perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS 1000 FUCKING ENTIRE KUDOS WHAT. *cries mathematically* Jesus you guys that's insane!! I can't even count to 1000 without getting bored, so I can't even concieve the amount of people that is, but holy shit I appreciate each and every one of you. *^*

Richie was floating.

And ooohhh, it felt greeeat, his whole body felt loose and warm and _good,_ but he was simultaneously sad and annoyed that these supposed 'doctors' couldn't seem to understand that he wanted his Eddie, he wanted him here, by his bed, so that he could giggle and touch his face and see him get all flushed and embarrassed. Richie kept clearly stating that he wanted Edward Kaspbrak brought out of the waiting room to visit him, but the doctors just squinted at each other and looked confused.

"There's a restaurant down the street that delivers, maybe we can get some spaghetti dropped off? I've never seen a man so passionate about his Italian food..."

Idiots. He was surrounded by total idiots. 

He had a fleeting wonder for a moment if this was how Stan felt all the time before he started giggling at the mental image of Stan's noodle hair with meat sauce and Parmesan cheese on top and couldn't stop from snickering.

"Hahaaaaa all my friends are pastaaaaa~" he singsonged triumphantly, as was his right. Didn't these people realize he was Richie Goddamn Tozier? If he wanted to sing about why it was great that Eddie and Stan put together made Steddie Spaghetti that was his prerogative. 

A nurse came by to play with his wrist and he swatted at her irritably. "Nooooo," he moaned, head swimming, "You're not my Sp'ggti Mannnn you're not even a maaaannnn where is heeeeee..??! I waaant. To play. With his haaaaair! It's so fluffy I'm gonna die!" He whispered reverently, tears welling up from the intensity of his love for Eddie's fluffy brown locks. What a shame that he wasn't here so Richie could pet it or braid it or maybe even chew on it to see if it really tasted like the lingering scent of strawberries like he thought it did.

The nurse made a weird face at him and Richie wondered if he had said any of that out loud. "F'ck yooooouuu....get out of my brain!" He whined, trying to flip her off but as soon as his hand drifted into his vision he lost interest in that to focus on his own palm, entranced. "Oh my God why didn't anyone tell me that I'm white..."

The nurse tutted once and stepped back, hands on her hips. "There, I adjusted your dosage so in a few minutes you should be back down here with us, okay, Mr. Tozier? If you have any pain, please press this button here." She pointed at something out of his range of sight and he very slowly managed to make the A-OK sign with one hand, flashing it at the empty room before realizing she must have left already.

Richie let his head flop back against the pillows and whined somewhat pathetically. "Aaaahm all aloooone, there's no one heeeere besideeee meeeee~"

He heard the door open and jolted once, looking up and squinting as a vaguely short figure clad in purple inched into his field of vision. How dare this human shaped blur be purple when only Eddie had the right to wear purple? And God damn it, he had been waiting too long, if he didn't see a Spaghetti Man by his bedside in exactly the very next second he was going to hunt down that lying nurse and smack her with a used bedpan.

And suddenly, there Eddie was, as if by magic. Richie's eyes lit up and he grinned.

"Theeeeeeere you ah! Finahly, Ah say Ah say sirree as God as mah wi'niss Ah ain't nevah had to wai' so long for an'thin' in mah entire life, boy howdy Ah sweah!" 

Eddie was talking to him, saying things that were probably important with a tone of mild alarm and exasperation, but as Richie relaxed and coasted on the high of the painkillers, all he could focus on was the beautiful voice itself, not the words. 

He reached out at once point for his glasses, trying to slide them on, but then his eye hurt for some reason and Eddie was getting really close to do it for him, and _oh._ As crystal clear vision replaced the hazy blur of the room, Eddie's concerned face close to his own, the sunlight shining in through the window behind him glinting behind his head? He looked positively angelic.

"You're a beautiful sight to wake up to, Eds..." he giggled, reaching out to cling to his hand as if scared he was going to leave. "Y're blushinnnn'! I made my lil' Spaghedward bluuuush what a cutieeeee~" In that exact moment the only thing that mattered was the red flush to Eddie's cheeks and over the bridge of his nose. All Richie wanted to do was kiss it away, but even in his currently not so reliable state of mind he knew that was pushing the boundaries of what was Okay and what was Not.

They kept talking, words and conversations that Richie forgot immediately upon saying them, too doped to focus on more than snippets of phrases and words and the warmth of Eddie's hand in his own. He thinks maybe he might have stuck one of the shorter man's fingers in his mouth at one point and thinks maybe he should apologize, but then he can't remember why he should have to apologize when he went to all the trouble to keep Eddie's finger warm for him. Rude. 

He gets a chance to hug his favorite little Eds and he takes it, breathing in the scent of his own sweatshirt, Eddie's shampoo, and the very faint smell of exhaust and motor oil. Richie wants to ask where that smell came from, but as soon as the words form on his tongue, some hideous screeching wildebeest starts talking and it's all he can do to not moan at how irritating it is.

He feels Eddie's warmth disappear and whines as the pounding in his head, which had been steadily vanishing, came back full force to smash into him like a semi. Richie felt the world shift almost for a second, his hands coming up to cover his face as he focused on breathing through the pain and nausea. He wants Eddie back, where did he go, why isn't he here...?!

_(he's gone gone gone you little shit he may be here right now but he belongs to her and she's going to take him away from you and i'm going to laugh laugh laugh that's all you want right is to make people laugh?)_

The voice comes as if from nowhere, something he felt like he was hearing with his own ears and yet, neither Eddie nor the screechy voice _'his mom it's Sonia that fucking bitch is here'_ seemed to react to it at all. Was he going crazy?

_(you think you're safe don't you richie all snuggled up in your bed well you're not safe and neither is he watch me make him just like the fake eddie that lured you away back at neibolt it'll be easy so easy you would do anything for eds won't you richie well then why don't you get up and stop me?)_

There was something vaguely familiar about it but he couldn't place it, all he knew is that if Mrs. K didn't knock off her yelling and go back to watching her programs so he and Eddie could read comic books and play pirates in peace he was gonna scream.

So he did.

"You ruthless, manipulative, evil _bitch!"_

The words scared him almost as much as her, as the purple track suit _'no it's a dress why is she wearing a dress Mrs. K never wore dresses'_ jumped with her, hugging her curves tightly as she whirled around to face him, and even though the face wasn't right, less plump in the cheeks and chin was more narrow, he still recognized her as Sonia Kaspbrak.

He remembered yelling and tears and his own voice twisting and morphing into something else, some kind of Old Man Voice for a moment, and then suddenly and abruptly Sonia/Not Sonia was dragging Eddie out of the room and then he was alone.

He was _alone._

Unacceptable.

It took several long minutes for him to get his long, lanky legs to cooperate with him long enough to swing them both over the side of the bed, and his head was ringing uncomfortably as he got to his feet, but soon enough he was standing, ripping the little monitor off his fingertips and leaning heavily on his IV stand as he tugged it along beside him and headed down the hall.


	45. Headstrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie gets out of the hospital bed but is stopped by the other Losers. He and Bill both realize they're both hearing the same mysterious voice in their heads for some reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shortness of today's chapter, tomorrow's will be longer! Promise! *whispers* Friends don't lie.

When Stan finally rejoined the others, it was to Bill, Bev, Mike, and Ben talking very seriously amongst themselves, Georgie sleepily rubbing his eyes while he was held in Mike's arms. As Stan drew closer, he overheard snippets and heard the word 'wife' thrown out. He flinched, wondering how the hell any of them could have possibly known who he had just called, and was mentally preparing to defend his actions. 

Then he got close enough to hear.

"-an't believe the nerve of her! Storming over to the front desk and demanding that they tell her where Eddie was! As soon as she had the room number, she just flew past and went in! Doesn't she realize this is a hospital!?" Bev raved to Bill, hands on her hips and her long red hair dancing along her shoulder blades as her head whipped to the side to look as Stan joined the half semicircle of his friends.

"What's going on?" He asked, noting Mike's glum expression, Bev's righteous fury, Ben's somber and nervous look, and Bill's weary and mournful state as he joined them.

"Eddie's leaving. Heading back to New York City with Myra. They're heading to the Townhouse to pick up his things now. They'll probably hit Bangor Airport within the hour..." Mike said softly, biting his lip as Georgie sniffled somewhat mournfully in his arms.

"I don't want Eddie to go, Mikey, can't he just stay with us?"

Stan's jaw dropped. Whatever he had been expecting to hear, it certainly wasn't that. "M-Myra? Eddie's wife? She's _here?"_

"Not for long." Ben said somewhat sadly, biting his lip. "She's...well, she's something else. Honestly it was like looking into the past, she acted exactly like Sonia Kaspbrak."

Bev put her hands on her hips, expression furious. "She came stomping through the lobby dragging him behind her like a puppy and he didn't say a single word in his own defense. He wouldn't even look at us. He just looked...so scared. Apologetic. Like it was his fault."

Stan closed his eyes and let out a heartfelt and exhausted sigh. "God. _God._ What do we tell Richie? He's going to be heartbroken."

A voice came from over Stan's shoulder. "Is he? Well, that's unfortunate, his heart didn't get the memo."

Stan didn't even need to turn around to tell who it was, the surprised and excited expressions on the others' faces told him all he needed to know. 

Georgie grinned and wriggled his way out of Mike's grip to quickly rush over to Richie's side. The tall man had seemingly gotten to his feet and was leaning heavily on his IV stand, eyes narrowed and still foggy with drugs even as he clapped a hand over the top of Georgie's head to lightly muss up his pale brown locks. "Mornin', peewee. How're tricks?"

Bill and Stan both wordlessly drifted to either side of Richie as he swayed dangerously, Stan cursing as he reached behind him to do up the straps at the back of his hospital gown. 

"God damn it all, Richie, you're going to hurt yourself worse gallivanting around like this, and the way to winning Eddie's heart is probably _not_ flashing your bare ass at half of Derry's geriatric unit."

Richie giggled and shook his head, dark curls framing his face like a stage curtain or a halo. "Nah, gotta show 'im the goods, show'm what he's missin'...no, wait, fuck, I gotta think straight for a minute, don't distract me." He grit his teeth and when he opened his eyes again they were more clear. "I want off these fuckin' drugs, man, I gotta concentrate, something's going on, something-" 

Ben shot Mike a nervous look as Richie cursed again, seeming to be nearly unable to keep his thoughts on track. "Richie, what is it?"

Richie snapped his fingers triumphantly in Ben's direction, even though his gaze was fixed slightly to the left of him still. "Thassit, Haystack, y'got it. Always were smarter th'n you had any right t'be."

Beverly frowned, coming up to gently place her hands over Richie's and bring them to his sides. "Steady there, hotshot, you better take a chill pill for a minute and calm down, you shouldn't be up and about in your condition right now..."

Richie laughed, squeezing her hands in his larger ones for a second. "No, noooo, I gotta...Eds, somethin'...coming for him, told me so, in my head. I heard the voice say so. Said he was gonna look just like the Eddie from Neib'lt Street when he was done with 'im. W' gotta stop them fr'm leavin' town..."

Mike thinned his lips into a line, not seeming to notice how Bill's eyes had gone wide and his face had gone stunningly pale. "Richie, I think you should listen to Bev and sit down for a sec..."

"What d-did you say?" Bill breathed incredulously, his voice deadly serious. "You...you've buh-been hearing a voice i-in your huh-head tuh-too?"

All eyes snapped to him in an instant, even as Richie shook his head and leaned on Stan for support. "Nngh, no, not all the time, just on the drugs, goddamnit, I gotta-" He shook his head, dark curls bouncing for a moment before he grit his teeth and yanked the needle out of the back of his hand, earning a startled gasp from Bill and a scolding, "Richie!," from Stan.

Richie huffed irritably and smoothed the bandage back down over his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingertips as he tried to get his thoughts to line up correctly. "Gotta get this out, no time to...to... wait, how long ago did they leave?"

Bev frowned and glanced over at the clock, which read a little after four pm. "About thirty five minutes ago."

Richie swore, squeezing Bev's hands and shuffling forward. "Goddamnit, I'm more out of it than I thought, it didn't feel like that long-"

Stan stubbornly remained in place, his arm around Richie's waist and reaching up to lace one long arm over his own neck so he was better supported and inwardly wished both Richie and Bill had better self preservation instincts.


	46. Beginning Of The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie starts to realize that he's not happy locked into a marriage with Myra...then, something _impossible_ happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for things getting a little intense in this chapter, guys. Warnings for blood and gore as well as spousal abuse and homophobic statements.

Eddie rubbed at his shoulder somewhat sadly as Myra pulled up to the Derry Townhouse, shooting him a simpering scowl. 

"You stayed _here?_ It's so _tiny,_ honestly, I don't understand why you would want to stay in such a pathetic looking motel! You'll thank me when we're home, Eddiebear, you'll remember how much nicer everything in New York City is." Myra sighed, parking the car and getting out before shooting the Townhouse a huffy look as if she held the building personally responsible for Eddie leaving with hardly a word.

He remained quiet for a moment, biting his lip as he glanced up at the Derry Townhouse. Eddie could remember riding his bike past it many a time when he was a kid, often being chased by Bowers and his gang and thinking to himself; _'Someday I'll make it out of here and stay in places just as nice as that all the time!'_

To hear Myra unintentionally insult his childhood dream irked him, his hackles raising slightly. "It's really not that bad." he offered softly, crossing his arms over his chest and wishing he wasn't absolutely drowning in Richie's hoodie. 

Perhaps if he was physically more intimidating he wouldn't be taken advantage of as often...

Myra raised a plump hand to shield her eyes from the sun, squinting and curving her red lips into a frown. "Yes, well, it's really not that _good,_ either, is it? Which room is yours?" she asked, walking up the steps and regarding the children playing outside with a small frown of annoyance.

And perhaps exactly nothing would change.

Eddie followed behind her, lips pursed slightly in irritation. "It's... room 305. First one on the left past the stairwell." he replied softly, only just now seeming to notice the way Myra always seemed to lengthen her strides so that he was just a step or two behind her, like he was the one following her instead of them walking together. Even though she was a few inches shorter and easily fifty pounds heavier, not to mention wearing three inch heels. As far back as he could recall, she had always walked like that, but he could never remember being bothered by it before.

Experimentally he picked up his pace so that he was next to her, confused brown eyes darting over to see how she would react.

Maybe he was just overreacting over nothing.

Myra smiled happily, reaching out to interlace their fingers and sped up slightly so that her arm hung back, tugging him along somewhat impatiently. "I'm glad you're hurrying, I want to get _out_ of this dirty little town, Eddiebear. I booked us a flight out of Bangor Airport in an hour, first class, of course. You didn't bring much so this shouldn't take long." she announced, her tone light and cheerful even as she regarded the interior decorating of the hallways with a vague sort of disgust, her nose wrinkling as if she had smelled something distasteful. 

Eddie's frown and headache increased, annoyance growing as he realized that she would have had to have the flight booked long before arriving at the hospital, and had just assumed that Eddie would drop everything, drop his closest friends, to follow her home at her beck and call.

And here he was, doing exactly that. 

Eddie's self hatred flared to life, reminding him that he had done similar things before in the past, such as leaving dinners with important clients early on her request, or even skipping them altogether. How much had he given up for her? How many missed experiences?

How many more would it take before he finally stood up for himself?

Myra unlocked the door to his room and nudged it open with a chubby foot, as if unwilling to dirty herself with the touch of the doorknob. _"Oh,_ it's worse than I _thought._ Well," she sighed, inching into the room behind him, "At least now you can change out of that hideous sweatshirt and put on something of your own." She left the words, "Something not tainted by that _man,"_ unsaid.

Eddie sighed and obediently slunk over to his meticulously clean suitcase, gently undoing each of the clasps and lifting it to reveal a few clean polos, a pale blue grey button down, and three pairs of pressed slacks, one brown, one black, and one navy blue. He selected the brown slacks and the blue grey shirt, glancing over somewhat nervously as Myra fixed him with an expectant look and crossed her arms, arching a plucked eyebrow at him when he didn't begin to strip for her immediately. "Well?"

Eddie bit his lip self consciously as he realized she wasn't going to give him any privacy, before he sighed wearily and reached down with shaking hands to lift the sweatshirt over his head. Before he could, however, he heard the flutter of cardstock hitting the wooden floor. His heart dropped and simultaneously skipped a beat in horror, realizing that the photo he had taken from Richie's suitcase had just slipped out of the pocket of the sweatshirt and fallen in front of Myra's feet. He tugged the shirt back down to cover himself and lunged for it, but Myra was quicker, her long red fingernails scraping under a corner and snatching it up in an instant.

He watched as her face went white, then red, eyes darting over the photo as she took in every detail, before shooting up to meet his accusingly.

Eddie reached out to snatch it from her fingers, but Myra spun away, her free hand catching him across the face in a mighty slap. A startled gasp left his lips, his left hand coming up to cup his stinging cheek in surprise. Never had she ever struck him like this, like she _meant_ it, like she wanted it to _hurt._ Betrayed brown eyes shot over to meet startled grey, her manicured fingers darting up to cover her own mouth as if equally surprised by her own actions.

"Oh, _Eddie,_ I-I'm so sorry..."

His head still ringing from the force of it, he took a small step backwards, stunned and hurt. "You...you _hit_ me..." he breathed in a startled sort of disbelief. All this time he hadn't been able to equate what Myra did as abuse because she had never physically hurt him, it was all emotional manipulation and that wasn't really abuse if he allowed it, right...? But this...this wasn't...she shouldn't have...

Myra bit her lip and darted forward to cup his face in her hands, nervously tilting his head towards her so she could inspect the right side of his face in the light. "Oh, oh dear, I'm so _sorry,_ Eddiebear, I didn't meant to hit you _that_ hard...!"

Eddie shook himself free of her touch, teeth gritting even as angry tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. "'That hard?' You...you shouldn't have hit me at all!"

Myra squawked in an astonished sort of way, waving the photo at him as if that excused her reaction. She seemed surprised that Eddie was questioning her at all, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Wh...what was I supposed to _do,_ Eddie? I let you go somewhere yourself for less than a week and you're already on your knees for the first man you come across!" She wrung her hands fretfully, before she pointed to Alex, the man's faint flush, his own erection, and pleased smirk visible even in the photograph. "Look at you! You...you shouldn't _like_ things like that, you're just _sick,_ is all, but I can make you better once we're home and out of this dirty little town with its dirty men putting dirty sick _nasty_ thoughts into your head! I'll show you what you're supposed to like, sex with women, n-not with _other men!"_

Eddie shook his head slowly, looking up at her with a slow burning outrage on his features. "'L-Let me'? You didn't 'let me' do anything! I had to practically pull you off of me when I left, and you were crying and doing you best to talk me out of it the entire time! Don't you see, Myra? That's not healthy, you can't just, just, _manipulate_ me into doing what you want all the time!"

Myra gasped, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks as she let the photo drop to the floor. Her heel drove right through the back of Richie's shaggy head of curls in the photo as she reached out to drag Eddie into a hug. "P-Please stop this, Eddie, you're...you're just sick, but I-I have your pills with me, and once you're home, you'll be so much happier, look at you! Your arm is broken, honey! J-Just let me take care of you, I'm your _wife and I love you so much, Eddie!"_

Eddie reluctantly allowed her to tug him close, the familiar scent of her thick and cloying perfume wafting over him. He didn't know what to do. For the first time it was like he had realized that he was miserable with Myra, but he hadn't even noticed until he spent a week in the company of his closest friends. A week where he had also battled an inter dimensional evil clown entity and had been struck down by the same.

"Th-that isn't even _me_ in that fucking picture..." he breathed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose between two fingers as he tried to will his headache away. "It's just someone else who looks the same."

Myra held him out at arm's length and pressed a chaste kiss to Eddie's lips. He kissed her back merely out of habit and felt nothing, her lipstick smearing against his mouth and making him feel almost nauseous. "Get dressed now, honey, please? I...I believe you, okay? I-If you say th-that man in the photo isn't you, then I believe you, alright, Eddiebear? I do, I believe you." Her words washed over him and soothed his hurt slightly, and he nodded shortly, pulling out of her hold to numbly lift Richie's sweatshirt over his head and letting it drop to the floor. The cuff caught on his right hand, likely because of his bulky cast, and Eddie sighed as he tugged hard to get his arm free.

He felt something hard and unyielding around the band of the sweatshirt and his wrist and huffed in annoyance, pulling a little harder.

A silver handcuff was fastened around the wrist of his cast, and Eddie's eyes fixed on it almost stupidly in shock. There was no possible way it could exist there... As the sweatshirt fell to the ground, the chain slipped out of the sleeve, as well as the second cuff, which was fasted around a severed human hand, the stump still sluggishly oozing blood.

Eddie screamed, eyes wide and horrified as he shook his arm madly as if hoping to dislodge it before it could touch him. "Aaaahhh!!!"

Myra jumped, eyes wide as she looked him over, panicked but seeing nothing to cause her husband to become so terrified. "E-Eddie? What _is_ it?" she gasped, reaching out to touch his cast. "Did you hurt your arm?"

He froze, his entire body trembling even as he held his right arm out away from himself, the severed hand spinning slowly at the end of the other cuff, blood dripping onto the floor with several thick wet splats. He shook harder, frantic breaths being drawn in between his teeth as he tried not to scream again and swallow his terror. This couldn't be happening, Pennywise was _dead,_ this was all impossible!

He swallowed his terror much like he had back at the Chinese restaurant with those nightmare inducing fortune cookies, forcing his breathing to mellow out even as he choked back horrified tears and slapped a phony smile onto his face. "I-I'm f...fine. Just....just jostled it, th...that's all...!" 

His forced his eyes off of the hand and back over to Myra, trembling diminishing back down to an almost unnoticeable level.

Myra frowned and handed him his shirt, biting her lip. "I-It's the water, it must be, th-this town isn't right, th-that man back in the hospital, he was...was _possessed_ or something-!"

Eddie choked back vomit as he pulled his shirt on, the hand smearing thick wet bloodstains across his chest. He could feel the warmth of it as it brushed against his skin, sticking there even as the scent of rust and metal filled his nose, he could feel the weight of that limp hand in the other handcuff and found himself wondering who it belonged to? _'It's...it's not real, it's just a trick, all in my mind it's a placebo a gazebo a nightmare It. Is. Not. Real!'_

Eddie was so focused on keeping his terror from showing that he didn't react even as Myra grabbed his right hand, the dead appendage flopping bonelessly against her wrist and staining her watch red with stale blood. 

"Let's...let's go _home,_ Eddie, I hate it here and I want to go _home!"_

He bit his lip to choke back scared sobs even as his free hand picked up his suitcase and stepped out of the room after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Richie gets the bright idea to try and 'channel' the voice he and Bill keep hearing in their heads to try and trigger a vision of where or what it is.
> 
> Everything goes horrifyingly wrong in the worst kind of way.


	47. Possessed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie tries to 'channel' the voice to figure out what it is. It backfires on the Loser's Club horribly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning fam! Hope everyone is ready for more angst! Things are starting to happen very quickly for our favorite pack of losers, hopefully you all enjoy!

"Wait just a minute, Richie! Bill, what are you talking about, what _voice?"_ Stan demanded, glancing from Bill to Richie and wordlessly demanding an explanation. He was dumbfounded, surely Bill wasn't so foolish as to keep hearing a voice inside his head quiet from the rest of them?

Bill looked uncomfortable and stopped walking as well, causing Richie to pitch forward for a heart stopping instant, before Ben reached out to steady him with a hand on his shoulder. "I...I-I don't nuh-know how to eh-explain it..."

Ben's expression turned grim for a moment, his warm hazel eyes darting over each of the Losers meaningfully in turn. "Could...could it be...Pennywise?" he breathed, daring to say what all of them were wondering but didn't want to say aloud, as if speaking it was an invitation for Pennywise to be reborn.

Stan's face paled considerably at this thought and Bev grit her teeth, hands on her petite hips, her determination to debunk Ben's theory evident.

"No. _No!_ We tore It's heart out, stomped it to pieces. Good luck surviving that, I don't care what you are. If It had to eat, which It _did,_ that meant It had a physical form. And we fucking killed It. It is _dead._ End of story." she stated firmly, arms crossing over her chest. It was clear that she was adamantly pleased about that fact, too, for all the pain and hardship It had put on not just the Seven, but everyone who had ever dwelled in Derry over the past few centuries.

Stan still looked shaken up, having gone remarkably quiet as he mouthed the words, 'two isn't enough, two isn't enough' over and over again as a sort of subconscious coping mechanism. Mike reached out to gentle squeeze his shoulder and Stan gave him a soft appreciative smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Bill bit his lip, seeming to be deep in thought while Richie cast a knowing gaze in his direction. "What did the voice say to you?" he asked, rubbing his temple with his free hand. 

"I duh-don't ruh-remem-member, ex-ex-exactly." Bill let the lie slip from between his trembling lips almost easily, deliberately not meeting Stan's accusing gaze as those brown eyes darted up to stare at him knowingly. In reality, Bill's mind was racing, a storm passing over his eyes as he remembered the horrible things the voice had whispered to him.

_(but they would dance and do whatever i say, even kill you all, little stan bleeding out while he cries and tears your throat out and eddie screaming because he lost his arm again even while he stabs richie to death with his own pocket knife oh how the fun we would have buh buh billy boy)_

_(i made it happen billy boy it was me all me and no matter how much you fight it all ends the same)_

Could he have really just imagined it all? No, that wasn't possible, not here. Not after what they had just done, just finished, not even a week ago.

There was no such thing as a coincidence, not in Derry, Maine. It just wasn't so.

Mike spoke finally, softly, his voice seeming to break them all out of it even as six pairs of eyes glanced over to him. "What if...what if it's the voice of whatever brought Eddie, Stan, and Georgie back? Couldn't that be...? Maybe it's the Turtle? Bill, you've heard It's real voice before, you and Richie both, during the Ritual of Chüd... did this voice... _sound,_ like it could be Pennywise?"

Stan bit his lip before he murmured nearly silently, "The Turtle can't help us now...the Turtle is dead..."

Richie furrowed his brow, concentrating very hard, his dark chocolate covered eyes distant. "I...no, not at all. It didn't sound the same way as It did when me and Bill did the Ritual of Chüd. It was a male voice, human, probably mid forties, pretty average sounding." Suddenly he gave a low grin, shooting a smirk at Bill. "I just thought of something. Remember when I did that Voice of Eddie and had a vision of where he was and what was happening? Maybe if I...maybe if I do a Voice of the voice, I'll be able to see what and where it is?"

Ben looked nervous. "I...I'm not sure, Richie, if this thing can talk inside people's heads...it just seems too dangerous."

Richie rolled his eyes. "Don't worry so much, Haystack. Y'see these guns?" he asked, flexing the arm over Bill's shoulder somewhat dramatically even as the author shot him a skeptical and unsure glance. "I'm invincible, even Bev's shitty ex couldn't keep me down. Let's see, the voice kinda sounded like-"

Stan felt goosebumps break out over the back of his neck like a warning, and he opened his mouth wordlessly as if to beg Richie, _'no don't do it not this one not **this** Voice you wouldn't you couldn't you shouldn't-'_ but even as he started to speak he knew it was too late, whatever was going to happen had already begun-

Words burst from behind Richie's lips, then, as if they were waiting for him, almost seeming unbidden, loud and unholy and horrifying, a sort of screechy monstrous growl that couldn't possibly be spoken by a human tongue, much less understood by human ears, sounding nothing at all like the way Richie had described it-

_**(yoU thInK yOU'rE sAfe doN't YOu riChIe alL sNugGLed uP iN yoUR bED wELl YOu'rE NOT sAfe aNd NEitHEr iS HE wATch mE mAKe hIM jUSt likE tHe FAkE eDdiE thAT lURed YOu aWAy baCK aT nEIboLt it'Ll bE eASy sO EasY yOu WOuLd dO aNyThiNg foR eDs wOn'T yOU rIcHiE weLl tHen whY dOn'T yoU GEt uP ANd sTop mE?)** _

Bill's blood ran cold as Richie's eyes seemed to go unfocused and glazed over, his thin body jerking once, before a horrifying sort of chuckle forced its way out from between those lips, the comedian's gaze fixing squarely on Bill even as his mouth pulled back into a grin that was so large and unnatural it looked like it must be hurting him.

It was like instead of _Richie_ being able to see where the voice was, the voice was using Richie to see where _they_ were. Bill shuddered as the lanky arm over his shoulder suddenly seemed to grow icy cold, like whatever entity was currently inhabiting Richie's body was sucking the heat right out of him.

_**(gOnNa gET YOu aLl oF yoU aNy oF yOu WeAr YoU LIke A pReTtY cOaT WaTcH hIm HuRT kiLl rIP tEaR bLeEd gOiNg tO mAkE hIm mUrDeR LiTtlE sCaReD eDd** iE lAuGh WhEn hE cRuSheS hIS LaRyNx aNd gEtS tO WA_tch the life drain out of him slowly...maybe I'll have him let go before Eds can finally die, let him gasp for air and wheeze and choke and cry and plead for mercy before these very fingers wrap around his throat and do it all over again.... I _know_ Richie wants to see those pretty brown eyes go misty and glazed over one more time, it was so _funny_ last time and we all know the Trashmouth loves a good laugh-!"

Bev's mouth opened in a silent scream of mortified terror, as if whatever was using Richie to talk to them was coming through, the Voice changing from horrific and demonic to slowly coming out as Richie's true voice. Hearing her best friend, her _Richie_ say such twisted things about how he would murder Eddie was causing her stomach to roil, and she took a stumbling step away.

Stan felt frozen with fear, his breaths quick and frantic even as those familiar dark eyes flicked over to him, the strangest sort of yellow energy seeming to almost glow from within them. Richie blinked once and when he opened his eyes the light was gone, the smirk dropping from his lips in an instant as he threw his head back and shrieked, a panicked and desperate sounding plea.

"Killmekillmekillmekillme nonononono don't let me hurt anyone don't let It-!"

Richie's legs gave out from under him abruptly, Stan cursing as he and Bill both stumbled and nearly followed him to the ground as his head lolled bonelessly on his neck. He dangled between them limply like a marionette whose strings had been cut, oblivious to the sounds of his friends panicking around him.

"H-He's fuh-fighting it-!" Bill breathed even as his childhood friend's fingers dug into the meat of his shoulder like a lifeline, like he was clinging desperately onto some sort of tether to keep himself grounded.

Every warning about concussions and what horrible complications could come with them flooded to the forefront of Stan's mind even as his heart skipped a beat.

Stan heard Bev scream for a nurse, heard Ben's sneakers squeak on the tile floor as he sprinted down the hallway yelling for a doctor, heard Bill's panicked shouting through his persistent stutter even as he lifted Richie's head and found a copious amount of blood dripping from his nostrils and ears, sluggishly sliding down past his pale lips and the sides of his face to drip onto the spotless white tiles.

Stan heard Mike curse as they moved Richie over to the waiting room chairs and set him down, felt his own warm fingers coming up to feel Richie's much too cold wrist, feeling for a pulse and then sudden shock and disbelieving realization when there was absolutely none to be _found-_

Bill was screaming, his hands squeezing Richie's shoulders as he begged him to snap out of it, to wake up, to keep _fighting-_

-Stan felt tiny hands gently push him aside to make room, and looked over almost comically to see Georgie furrow his brow at Richie's form, making a face of mild annoyance.

"Go away." he said coldly in his small voice, his small fist reaching out before pointing at a patch of wallpaper about four inches above Richie's head.

"Y'can't have him! Richie's my friend and he's gonna teach me how t' do 'pressions, so you jus' go away right _now,_ you big bully!"

His small hand reached out to poke his pointer finger firmly against Richie's chest, and that was when the comedian shot awake, eyes open wide as he drew in a shocked and painful sounding gasp, body bolting upright even as color seemed to rush back into his face, stunningly and impossibly _alive,_ his eyes miraculously clear.

Georgie grinned cheerfully even as Ben returned alone, Bev shooting a horrified look at him as she gestured helplessly at Georgie and Richie. "I...h-how did he just-?"

Stan's eyes met Georgie's for a second and he whispered incredulously, "You...you made it go away. How did you make it go away?" He wasn't sure what 'it' he was referring to, not the 'It' that they knew of, not entirely, but something else, something Other, something that had just tried to do serious damage to Richie from a distance for a yet unknown reason.

Bill was glued to Richie's side, checking him over even as the taller man's hands swatted at him somewhat impatiently, fingers trembling even as he insisted, "I-I'm fine, Big Bill, quit fussin', I'm not gonna break, I-I think I'm okay..."

Mike was regarding Georgie warily even as the boy pulled out his Groucho Marx glasses and cheerfully slipped them onto his face, the mustache hanging down over his lips as he talked. "Mommy told me that bullies are just big ole meanies and if you jus' call 'em out they'll go away and leave Billy alone when they make fun of his stutter. Thought it would work th' same for Richie, and it did!" The six year old turned his attention to the taller man before he scrunched up his small nose in disgust. "You're gettin' bloody snot everywhere Richie, that's so gross..."

Richie's fingers darted to his nose and came away wet, red staining his fingertips even as he glanced incredulously over to the rest of the Losers. Bill, Ben, Mike, Stan, and Beverly looked back at him, just as confused and concerned as he was.

"...anyone wanna tell me what the actual _fuck_ just happened?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Myra finds out first hand just how wrong Derry truly is, and what can happen when you try to steal away the people the town has claimed as its own.


	48. Out Of Bounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myra and Eddie have just barely passed the border of Derry when suddenly Eddie feels increasingly sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love reading everyone's theories about what's going on, I will say 2 people have half the puzzle each, I promise there is actually a plan. *^* I can't promise future updates will always be daily due to a lot of time jumps/etc. and my own declining mental health but I'll do my best to keep updating semi-regularly! Thanks loves!

Eddie's head was spinning.

He didn't know why exactly, just that once Myra had ushered him out to the car, completely oblivious to the fact her husband was barely holding it together, his head had started to ache slightly and he felt like he might be coming down with something. Heaven forbid he mention that in front of Myra, however, otherwise he would spend the entire plane ride home being coddled and force fed pills.

He let his right arm settle on the window frame, deliberately not looking at the severed hand dangling out the window and a river of red dripping down the side of the navy blue exterior of the car. Upon hitting potholes, the white bone peeking out through where the wrist would be knocked against the side of the Lincoln, causing Eddie to shiver at the hollow sound.

_Thunk._

"Are you sure you're alright, Eddiebear? You look so pale, sweetie, are you feeling okay?" The car swerved slightly as Myra leaned over to place a pudgy hand over Eddie's forehead. He grit his teeth and wanted to pull away, but the coolness of her fingers against the sweaty flesh of his face felt heavenly, and he couldn't help but to give a low sigh and lean into her touch.

"'m fine...." he breathed, furrowing his brow as he felt the strangest sort of sharp tug behind his breastbone, like something was telling him he needed to turn back right _now._ He didn't pay it much mind; since being resurrected his once flawless internal sense of direction seemed permanently broken. It tugged and yanked at him in what seemed to be random directions. When he was a kid, leading his friends through the sewers, he felt like true north was set to Derry, like as long as he knew where the town was, he could take them anywhere. But now? It seemed to be completely up to chance what direction tugged at him. Right now it seemed to be insistently yanking backwards, towards Derry, even as the car cruised through the hills ever closer to the town's border.

Myra was talking more but he tuned her out, her shrill chatter causing his stomach to lurch as his headache intensified to a low pounding at the front of his forehead. He reached out with slightly fumbling fingers to turn down the heat, feeling suddenly stifled. The blood on his shirt was beginning to crust and stick to his chest, the faint scent of rusty metal drifting up to cloy in his nose and make his nausea worse.

_Thunk._

He cracked open his eyes, biting his lip as the world seemed to be spinning slightly. Eddie couldn't even seem to recall when he had allowed his eyelids to fall closed. The 'Welcome to Derry' sign drafted past almost like a dream, the bright and cheerful colors of it seeming to only increase both the pounding in his head and the feeling of carsickness. 

_Thunk._

Myra's hand left his forehead and he whimpered slightly at the loss, watched as she cranked the heat back up as high as it would go, the warmth too intense to be in any way enjoyable. Eddie shifted uncomfortably, biting his lip, and then that same tugging seemed to intensify to the point where it felt like he was going to be dragged back through the seat.

"C-Can you turn the heat off?" he breathed, clenching his jaw shut tightly as if to physically hold back the vomit that even now seemed to be inching its way up his throat.

"But Eddieeee, I'm _cold,_ and it's such a short ride to Bangor anyways, please don't be so selfish!" she whined. Eddie grit his teeth, eyes fluttering open to gaze at the trees flitting by the car, the sunset beginning to peek and flash at him through the branches.

_Thunk._

His heart ached, a wave of melancholy sweeping over him in an instant as he pictured the expressions on his friend's faces as he was tugged past them back at the hospital. 

Bev looked furious, not at him, but at Myra, and it took Ben's hand on her waist to seemingly stop her from physically storming over and ripping Myra's hand away from Eddie. He was glad she hadn't; it would have been quite a scene to see Beverly Marsh face down against Myra. 

Ben looked sad, his hazel eyes that saw more than he let on gazing past Myra and into Eddie's own. He seemed to understand the predicament Eddie was in, even if he couldn't relate based on his own personal experiences.

_Thunk._

Mike's face was stony and cold, lips pursed as if he was holding back the desire to say something to her. It wasn't like it would make any difference in the long run, Myra would just find a way to twist Mike's words against him, wad them up and throw them back into his face the same way she always did with Eddie. 

Stan looked past Myra, however, over to Eddie. His expression to an outsider was blank, but Eddie knew him better than that. Eddie had been friends with Stan for years, he _knew_ him. He could read the grit of his jaw as the frustration it was, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes as disappointment, the stance he took with his arms crossed tightly over his chest as sadness, and the way one hand tapped at his own elbow as irritation. 

Bill...Bill was different. He took a single step forward, determination set in his features. It was clear he wasn't going to let Myra walk away with Eddie without so much as a goodbye...but he halted in mid stride, as if listening to something only he could hear, before he bit his lip, expression pained, and turned back to face the rest of the Losers. 

Eddie had found himself wondering what Richie would say and had to quickly change his course of thought; thinking of Richie right now, and all his confused feelings for him wasn't going to make leaving any easier. He had felt his inner compass spin and tug for an instant up and to the left and did his best to stifle that, too.

Now here he was not even a half hour later, stomach roiling and head pounding, and all he could think about was how much he wanted to go home. No, not New York City, that wasn't home, not really. He wanted to be back with the Losers, wherever they were was home enough to him.

He wanted to hear Mike and Stan discuss birdwatching spots around town, wanted to sit out on Mike's porch with Beverly while she smoked a cigarette downwind for him, a grin on her lips and life in her face even as she exhaled pale white vapor that curled around her face like a lover's caress. He wanted to see Ben cooking, easily slipping between Bill and Richie while they playfully offered to taste test anything that needed perfecting. He wanted to hear Georgie squeal excitedly with laughter as Bill playful chased him around the house, before lifting him onto his shoulders high enough for him to just barely brush his fingertips against the ceiling. He wanted to sit down with Richie and discuss his feelings, wanted to see for himself if they were returned or if it was just a pleasant daydream he had come up with by himself.

He wanted to go _home._

Each passing second that the Lincoln's tires clawed at the asphalt, dragging him further and further away from where he wanted to be, felt like an eternity.

_Thunk._

The heat roared from the heater, sinking into his very bones.

His headache pounded between his ears like a bass drum.

His left arm ached where it met his shoulder, throbbing and stinging almost as intensely as it had when he first came back to life.

Myra's mindless chatter kept going, nails on a chalkboard scraping down the walls of his psyche and causing his anger to only rise.

_Thunk._

"Y...you didn't even let me say goodbye to my friends." He hadn't realized he was planning on speaking until his words were already out in the open air, and he had a fleeting second of terror in which he wished he could snatch them back before Myra could hear.

She gasped, putting a hand over her chest and glancing over sadly. "E-Eddie, you...I don't understand why you're _doing this!?_ Making me out to be the bad guy? I-I just want what's best for you, and this town isn't it! Th-those _friends,_ of yours-" she spat the word like it was an expletive, "They'll only bring you pain, Eddie, a-and you know it, deep down, that's why you're here, with me, and not back there with them!"

Eddie felt a wave of pain shoot through his left arm and scowled miserably. "That's not true. I'm here with you out of a misguided sense of obligation and because you'll pitch a fit if I don't do whatever you want anyways. And I'll go along with it, same as I always do."

Myra gasped, and Eddie realized he had probably hurt her feelings with his comments. _'Good.'_ he thought somewhat bitterly, _'It's about time someone told her the truth.'_

"Y-You're more sick than I thought, Eddie, b-but don't worry, I-I've got pills in my purse-!"

_Thunk._

Eddie's head flopped back against the seat, his expression pained an annoyed. "I...I don't _want_ any pills. I don't even need them, Myra, would you please just _stop?"_ He snapped, his left hand reaching out to switch the heater off completely. His stomach protested the motion and he clapped his hand over his mouth to hold back a stream of vomit as his body lurched, trying in vain to toss up everything he had eaten so far today.

Myra whirled to face him, expression dark with unhappiness at his words and attitude. _"Eddie,_ what has gotten into y- AAAAHHH!!" she shrieked, the car jerking abruptly as she yanked the wheel hard to the right. The Lincoln spun around, just barely dodging a car coming for the other direction, before spinning again and pitching forwards into the ditch. Eddie swore as he finally lost the battle with his stomach and threw up violently all over himself, gagging and choking around it.

It was pitch black, like oil or ink.

Myra kept screaming the entire time the car spun, before ending up facing backwards in the ditch on the wrong side of the road. Eddie's headache pounded harder, whirling to look at her with righteous anger in his features.

"Myra, what the fuck was that all about!?" he demanded furiously, wiping his mouth with the back of his shaky hand. The car didn't seem to be damaged, but the fact she had put the first thing he had ever earned himself into the ditch for no logical reason infuriated him. 

Her eyes widened as she looked into his face and she screamed again, terror evident in her features as she ripped off the seatbelt and scurried backwards, away from the car as fast as she could. "Y-You're not...y-y-you can't be-! Y-You're a m-m-monster! Aahhhh!!" She scrambled up the side of the ditch faster than he had ever seen her move before, like the Devil himself was hot on her heels.

Eddie's eyes darted to the rear view mirror and he froze. In the reflection, his face was ghost white and rotted out, maggots roiling in and out from between his skull and his flesh. His eyes were glazed over and pus swollen, one drifting lightly in the other direction as though the connection to the ocular muscles had been severed. His left arm was completely gone, dark blood pouring from a ruined stump. 

Eddie threw up again, the dark inky blackness rolling down his chin and staining his shirt past any reasonable point of being able to wash it out.

"W-Wait...! S-Stop, it's n-not... I-I'm not...!" he gasped desperately, feeling faint. This couldn't be happening, this had to just be some horrible dream, any moment now he was going to wake up in his sleeping bag on Mike's bedroom floor, and maybe he would joke about it while Stan cooked breakfast, Richie dumping way too much syrup over his pancakes and demanding sprinkles too, even as Ben warned about the dietary risks of too much sugar and Eddie gagged jokingly at the idea of eating anything that soaked in syrup. 

He heard her scream again, distantly, heard the howl of some sort of nightmarish creature that didn't exist outside of Hollywood.

Eddie forced himself into a sitting position, looking down and seeing that despite the reflection in the mirror, he still had both of his arms. Could this just be some sort of otherworldly trick? But how and why? It was dead, they had killed It, so why were these things still happening to them..?!

He got to his feet and swayed unsteadily, his left arm screaming in pain. "Myra!" he yelled, taking short shuffling steps over foliage and a long forgotten deer carcass as he climbed up out of the ditch to try and see where she had gone. 

He spotted one of her heels abandoned on the pavement of the road, but nothing else. That howl he had heard, could that have been-? 

Eddie's stomach lurched and his head was still pounding and he couldn't _take it anymore-!_

He stood helplessly in the middle of the street, right arm heavier from the dead hand still dangling out of the cuff. His breathing came in short, wheezing bursts, gaze fixed on the direction he thought Myra had possibly gone in while his inner compass spun and whirled madly in circles.

Eddie didn't know how long he had stood there, panting hard, terror and sickness causing his body to tremble and shake. One second he had glanced down to see the puddle of blood dripping from the hand still cuffed to his own was merely a few splatters, the next; a puddle about a six inches in diameter. Was he going crazy? He pulled in a shaky shuddery breath and bit his lip, eyes falling closed as a wave of exhaustion swept over him. His body wobbled unsteadily as though he was unable to even stay standing for much longer.

Headlights eventually flew down the highway, illuminating his form as the approaching car slammed to a halt, the door flying open. He heard panicked voices, demanding to know if he was alright, heard Richie gasp and moan out; "Oh, God, his face, look at his _face!"_

The next thing he knew he was being lifted into strong arms, his head lolling on his neck as he curled into them, still shivering in a mixture of terror and fear. "M-M-My...My-Myra..." he breathed, hitching, quivering breaths that seemed to rock his entire frame.

"Shhhh, baby, don't worry about her right now, just...just stay calm, okay, we'll figure this out, we will, we _will."_

Eddie let his eyes blearily blink open, his vision weaving in and out as he felt the car _'when did I get into a car?'_ perform a hasty three point turn, tires squealing as they headed back towards Derry. 

He felt his inner compass spin lazily for a moment before settling down. 

Everything would be okay now.

He was going home.


	49. Dark Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie tells the Losers more about what he saw while being possessed. (Trigger warning for gore, violence, and mention of rape)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1,100 KUDOS??! Each time we hit one of these milestones I'm increasingly baffled. *^* Thank you all SO MUCH for wanting to read this, I can't believe all the attention it has gotten. You're awesome. ;)

Stan forced Richie down into one of the waiting room chairs, his concern obvious even as he tore a strip off the bottom of the hospital gown and began to mop the blood away from his friend's ears and nose. 

Richie waggled his eyebrows for a moment as the material covering his body began to grow shorter and shorter with each strip removed. "Kinky." he joked weakly even though his heart clearly wasn't in it. His fingers were trembling and his eyes darted from each of the Losers in turn, glancing away as soon as any of them returned the gaze.

Stan's brown eyes darted up to meet his, lips pressed into a thin line and expression screaming irritation. "Beep beep, Richie. Now isn't the time for jokes." He said shortly, before returning to his task.

Ben slumped into the seat next to Richie, breathing heavily. "I...I tried to go find a doctor...there wasn't anyone around. Now," he gestured helplessly as the staff seemed to be pouring from the woodwork, nurses and doctors and even custodians almost clogging the hallways. "I...I'm sorry, I couldn't do anything-"

Richie gave a small smile and reached out to squeeze Ben's shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Haystack. It's nice to know someone here had a backup plan..."

Mike crouched next to him, expression stern. "Speaking of a plan, did you even have one? Richie, you...you weren't _breathing,_ don't you realize that? Whatever you channeled was something _evil,_ and it wanted you dead."

Richie swallowed for an instant, biting his lip and glancing over at Mike for an instant before flicking his gaze back down at his intertwined fingers. "N-no. I...I got a vision, all right, that's not what the voice wants...that was an accident, the voice didn't expect me to fight back so hard..."

Bill frowned, concern blossoming over his face. "Tuh-Tell us..."

Richie sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to concentrate. "It was... _really_ disjointed. It wasn't like with Eddie or Mr. Nell. I could see them clearly and hear and understand everything as if I was there. This time...? It was...flashes. Things from the past, and the future, and maybe the present. Things that have never happened and things that hopefully won't."

Beverly reached up to tuck a stray curl behind Richie's ear, her small hand gently lifting his chin to meet her gaze. "Richie...." she breathed, a question on her lips, "What...what did you see?"

Richie looked away, his own hand coming up to squeeze hers in a wordless apology. "A...a man. Dead. I couldn't tell who he was, the head was gone, and so was one of his hands...something was crouched over the body, _eating it,_ but the shape was human...whatever it was, it spun around, like it knew I was there...it had yellow eyes."

Ben gulped as Stan finished up wiping the blood away, silently excusing himself to find a biomedical waste bin to dispose of the rags with. 

"Did you get any sort of sense of where it was?" Ben asked curiously, seeming to be just as invested in learning more about this mysterious new enemy as any of them.

Richie flinched, as if just recalling the memory was causing him pain. "Somewhere....somewhere really dark. I couldn't see much...sorry."

Bill frowned, crossing his arms over his chest before he spoke gently. "When yuh-you were...possessed... whatever it wuh-was said th-that it was going to make yuh-you m-m-murder Eddie. For fuh-fun."

Richie's face went white for an instant, as if he had somehow forgotten or more likely blocked it out. "O-Oh. I...I hoped you guys hadn't heard that. The voice was...talking to me. Saying things. Evil, sick, _twisted_ things. Th-That was one of them, but that wasn't the worst of it." His face was pale and he didn't meet any of their eyes, leading them to wonder just how bad the things the voice had said to Richie were.

He had to swallow down vomit in his throat as some of the other terrible things the voice had said to him rose to the forefront of his mind.

_(think the jew would cry if you cut him open maybe he wouldn't mind as long as you made sure to cut him into threes)_

_(what about good ole buh buh billy boy what would he do if you were to kill georgie again oh do you think he would try to fight you or would he be so numb with grief he would just sit there and let you finish him off)_

_(bevvie is your best friend bet she'd scream so pretty if you gave her ben's heart and proved to her that it burns there too)_

_(mister mikey micholas the micycle the good little lighthouse keeper bet you'd like to repay him for all the years of waiting by throwing him off the kissing bridge just like adrian mellon bet he would float too)_

_(you think eds is afraid of men now wait until you're through with him holding him down thrusting into him laughing while he screams and cries how funny would that be)_

Beverly's features radiated concern as she bit her lip and glanced over at Bill, as if asking him what to do.

Bill took Ben's spot next to Richie and frowned, bouncing his leg lightly against the tile floor as he mentally wondered why the doctors around them seemed to not notice that one of their patients had escaped his room and had been screaming and bleeding just moments prior.

Richie stayed quiet for a second, before he spoke. "I thought whatever the voice was didn't know I was there." he said finally, not meeting any of their eyes. "I heard it laughing, giggling like it had just heard the funniest joke in the world. Then I realized...the voice was laughing because it thought it finally had what it wanted."

Stan frowned, glancing over to Bill questioningly before looking back at Richie. "What did it want...?"

Richie let his head rest in his hands, his long fingers tangling in wild black locks. "Me." he breathed, peeking up at them from between the gaps in his fingers. "It wanted me."

Bev traded nervous glances with Ben before Richie continued. "W-Well, not me specifically, I guess, it just...it wants any of us. It's...it's weak, right now, I got the sense that it...it wants one of us. Whatever it is, it's weak, right now, but it's getting stronger..." His eyes widened for a moment before he stood abruptly. "Eds-! Fuck, shit, I saw...I saw him, his car, it...it spun out, went into the ditch, he was sick, we have to-"

Mike reached out steadying hands to rest on his shoulders. "Richie, just breathe now, okay? Breathe." He took deep exaggerated breaths until the comedian followed along with him. "Good, now, let's try to think. Where would Eddie have gone first? We can find him if we retrace his steps."

Bev snapped her fingers as an idea came to her. "The Townhouse! He would have to go pick up his things, there, wouldn't he? And close out his room, pay the bill, things like that? If...if Richie's vision was from the future, maybe we can prevent it if we get there in time!"

Ben held up his keys. "I'll drive, but there's only room for three plus the driver..."

Stan glanced wordlessly around at the remaining Losers, saw the way that Bill had gone suddenly quiet, his eyes darting to Georgie curiously every so often. "Bill and I will stay behind." He offered, Bill blinking and giving him a confused and somewhat protesting look. 

Mike nodded firmly, crossing his arms over his powerful chest. "I'll go with."

Bev's grinned, her smile crinkling the bandages on her nose and face. "I'm in, too. Where Ben goes, I go." she announced, leaving no room for argument. The man in question looked stunned by her comment but simultaneously thrilled.

Richie got to his feet, crossing his arms. "I'm going."

Stan flicked his eyes in Richie's direction with a frown. "I don't know if that's a good idea..."

The taller man growled, hands clenching into stubborn fists. "Would you go, if it were Bill?" he demanded, expression angry. 

Stan's eyes widened and he opened his mouth as if to protest, before clamping it shut with a 'click', cheeks beginning to grow red. Bill shot him a questioning look but Stan remained silent.

"Then it's settled." Ben said firmly, glancing from Richie to Beverly to Mike. "Us four will go and bring Eddie back."

Georgie smiled and looked up from his book, his feet dangling over the edge of the hospital chair. "Eddie's upset right now, but I know Richie can make him feel better!"

Richie blinked and traded glances with the others, unsure of whether Georgie actually knew that Eddie was upset somehow or if he had just seen Myra pull him by and had assumed. "Sure thing, kiddo....sure thing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Mike, Bev, Ben, and Richie make it to the Derry Townhouse.


	50. Backtracking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike, Bev, Ben, and Richie head to the Townhouse. Beverly muses on her past with Tom and considers her future.

Beverly took shotgun in Ben's car. 

Usually Richie would have argued and pitched a fit about wanting the front seat due to his legs being way too long to fold up comfortably in the back, but his mind appeared far too occupied to complain at the moment. Mike sat next to him, fingers drumming along the armrest nervously as he internally wondered what horrors they would uncover at the Derry Townhouse. Would they be too late? Would they be too early? Could Eddie already be on a plane sweeping him away, back to New York City, back to normalcy where clowns didn't murder children and people didn't come back to life?

Beverly twirled a lock of long red hair around her fingertip, muttering out a faint curse as it became entangled around the silver ring on her middle finger. She tugged it off irritably and blinked, her green eyes catching on the inscription on the inside, faded slightly from being worn dutifully for years.

_'Forever mine~'_

She could remember when Tom had given it to her, seven years prior. The two of them had gone to a fancy restaurant that night, top of the line; he bade her to spare no expense in her ordering and they had dined like it was to be their last meal. At the end, their bellies were full and they sipped champagne that cost more per bottle than she charged for three of her fussiest blouses from Beverly By Hand. Afterwards he had passed her a small black velvet box with the ring inside; not a marriage request, because he wasn't ready to settle down and he had decided she wasn't either, but a promise ring to let the whole world know she was taken. At the time she remembered being smitten, the words making her heart flutter with warmth.

Now, looking at the inscription again, those same words just made her feel sick and used. She contemplated pitching the silver ring out the window but decided against it at the last minute, slipping it into her pocket instead of putting it back on her finger and rubbing at the red ring where it used to reside on her left hand.

Ben, ever thoughtful and intelligent Ben, glanced over and worried at his bottom lip as if wanting to ask but unsure of where to begin. "Beverly..." he began, and she braced herself for the pitying conversation, the sad eyes and the familiar worthless words about how she should have left Tom from the start, about how she should have said something, done something different, that if she would have just stood up for herself she wouldn't be in this situat-

"It's not your fault, Bev." Ben murmured, glancing over to her. His hazel eyes held not once ounce of pity, just concern for her wellbeing. Bev's surprise must have shown on her face as he continued speaking in that calm, neutral toned voice. "No matter what he said, that you had earned a beating or that you brought it on yourself. It wasn't your fault. It was nothing you did, or didn't do, and saying or doing anything different wouldn't have changed him. Fighting back wouldn't have done anything but made him hurt you worse, and you are so incredibly brave for leaving him even though you knew he would try to stop you. I...I respect the hell out of you for doing that, Bev."

Her eyes began to sting with the urge to weep, and she cleared her throat to try and push it back, to swallow it down. She was done crying for Tom Rogan, he wasn't worth a single tear to her anymore. "Th...thank you, Ben..." she whispered breathlessly, glancing over at the man driving and subtly noticing all the changes from when they were kids.

It wasn't just the lost weight, there was a clearly discernible difference in his attitude and the way he carried himself. The quiet and shy boy she knew had grown into a quiet man, not quite as shy as he once was. Sure, he didn't speak much unless addressed directly, but those intelligent eyes of his noticed and saw things that most people just _didn't._ His hands, once small and carrying the occasional paper cut from flipping through the pages of a book in place of spending time with the friends he didn't have, were now rugged and large, wrapped around the steering wheel. 

His hands spoke of hardship, of working labor intensive jobs around construction sites while he made his name known for being one of the best and brightest up and coming architects in the nation. She spotted callouses on his palms and wondered how often he went to the job sites to help out when they were working off one of his designs. Probably often, she decided; with as friendly and helpful as Ben was, she couldn't see him sitting back and letting other people do all the work.

His chest was broad and strong; when she looked closely Bev could see the ripple of muscle under his shirt as his hand drifted down to caress the stick shift and throw it into third gear. Ben's face was defined now, having finally broken through the veil of baby fat hiding his good looks from the world. There was the faintest dusting of stubble along his jawline and chin, and Bev couldn't stop herself from wondering what he would look like with a full beard. The oddest urge to trace the shadows along his cheekbones and corners of his eyes swept over her, and she colored pink, turning her attention back to the road. They needed to focus on Eddie right now, not her newfound attraction to the man Ben had grown into.

Mike piped up from the backseat, pointing to the parking lot. An empty spot sat near the front of the lot, a space that would usually be occupied immediately. Someone must have just left.

"I think we just barely missed them." he murmured lowly, glancing over at Richie to see the comedian frowning even as the car inched inside the empty space and Ben killed the engine.

"The room, his room will be empty if they've already gone." he reasoned, Richie's tone remaining mostly quiet. It was clear that his little brush with whatever voice was lingering in Derry had shaken him badly. Perhaps it was the things he'd seen, perhaps it was the words hissed to him, threateningly evil words that he didn't want the others to know about. Whatever it was, it was clear Richie was ready for a break, at least once they located Eddie.

Ben nodded thoughtfully. "His room will be empty, but if he already turned in the key or left it locked, how will we get in?"

Beverly blinked before her lips curled up into a smirk. She had once been extremely proficient in lockpicking thanks to Alvin Marsh starting to padlock first the front door and then her bedroom door shut. It had been years since she had done something so rebellious and a part of her longed for the thrill of it, of sneaking around, of screaming _'fuck the Man!'_ with both of her precisely manicured middle fingers flashed to the sky. 

She hadn't felt this much like herself in years, and Bev loved it.

"I've got some hairpins I can use to pick the lock, if one of you has a multi tool or something I can use to shape one into a tension wrench."

Ben flipped open the console and dug around inside for a moment, before he made a victorious noise and came up with a small tool pouch, including a pair of pliers. Beverly reached up to pull out a hairpin, only to hiss lightly in pain as the small bit of metal clung stubbornly to the bandages at the back of her head. "Damn, I can't get it..."

Ben blinked, a faint bit of pink swirling into his cheeks as he asked softly, "Let me?" His hands remained off of her until she nodded her assent, and then his fingers gently probed through her fiery red hair. 

It was at that moment she realized how intimate their position had become, their faces close as Ben poked his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, eyes intently focused on removing the pin without hurting her. Beverly took the opportunity to study his features closer, not noticing that a blush had come across her own face at the feeling of his large but deceptively gentle hands running through her hair. 

Ben cleared his throat and her green eyes snapped to his, realizing his fingers were holding up two bobby pins and that he must have located them several seconds ago. Seconds that she had spent staring at him like a lovestruck idiot. Her face colored darker at his playful smile, reaching out to take the pins with trembling fingertips. 

"Th...Thanks, Ben..." 

"Anytime." he said softly, and then the spell was broken as he pulled away and glanced into the rear view mirror at Mike and Richie.

Mike was giving them both a knowing smile, but he glanced away as soon as Beverly began to expertly shape one of the pins the way she wanted it with the pair of pliers. Richie bounced his long leg impatiently, glad that Stan the Man had planned for anything and carried three spare pairs of clothes with him in Ben's car. 

_"Just in case. I...I really only need one, I suppose, but...you know."_ Stan had said back at the hospital before the four had departed. _"Just...try not to trash them out too bad, okay, Tozier? No more fistfights, if I have to wash blood out of my own clothes I'm gonna be pissed."_

That was how Richie ended up wearing a crisp and clean pale purple button up shirt, a purple tie, black pressed slacks that stopped three inches above his ankles, black dress socks, and his own red converse. Not exactly a look he would probably copy in the future, but it was better than a shredded and bloodstained hospital gown that barely covered Little Richie.

He drummed his fingers along his knee impatiently until Bev announced she had finished the picks. Mike nodded and looked around. "Okay, we need a plan so that nobody gets suspicious. Keep in mind that there's still 'a child murderer' on the loose, if anyone spots Bev breaking into a room she just became suspect number one. I'm well known around Derry, so I'll strike up a conversation with Barbara to keep her busy. You three all still have rooms rented out here, so nobody should look twice as long as it looks natural. Don't take too long fiddling with the door if someone is looking, okay?"

Richie blinked and cast skeptical brown eyes over at the Townhouse. "Y'know this place probably only brings in, like, thirty thou a year, right? I don't think they've got state of the art security systems in there or anything, Micholas."

Ben blinked and glanced back at the librarian curiously. "And who exactly is 'Barbara?'"

Mike went pink, crossing his arms over his chest and pursing his lips. "I'm just being careful, is all. Oh, Barbara? She's the woman who runs the front desk."

Ben arched an eyebrow and smiled knowingly. "Let's get going, then. The faster we figure out if he's already gone, the faster we bring Eddie home."

Richie nodded firmly, undoing his seatbelt and stepping out of the car while the others did the same.


	51. Alex XOXO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beverly and Ben are caught trying to pick the door to Eddie's room. Bev gets creative and Richie finds the missing photo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys we hit 20,000 hits! 1150 kudos! And on top of all that, in the next few chapters I'm going to break 100,000 words on a single story, which has absolutely NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE. *^* You guys are incredible.

They stayed together in a pack upon entering the lobby, before Mike broke off to head over to the front desk. A tall redheaded woman with short cropped hair and large glasses was in the process of flipping through a book of hotel records, glancing up at him as he stepped closer and offering up a warm smile. "Why, Mr. Hanlon, is that you? I hardly recognized you without an 'overdue' stamp in your hand. How's the summer reading program going?"

Mike smiled back at her and watched Richie, Ben, and Beverly head up the stairs to Eddie's room, making friendly conversation and prepared to extend it as long as it would take. It's not like she wasn't a sweet woman, anyways. There are worse jobs he could have had in their little operation than making conversation with a pretty girl.

Richie slunk behind Beverly and Ben, looking down the hallway to make sure that nobody else was paying attention. The hallway was deserted, but as his brown eyes darted down at the carpet, he noticed small droplets of fresh blood, splattered along in a strange sort of wobbling pattern towards Eddie's room. It stopped outside his door.

"Guys..." he hissed, pointing the stains out to them. They were still wet, glinting in the light like rubies scattered on the hideous floral carpet. Bev's eye twitched almost unnoticeably as she took a small step closer to Ben and Richie. Ever since she and her bathroom had been utterly drenched in it, the sight of blood made her uncomfortable. Ben frowned and glanced down either end of the hallway, and didn't see anyone present. 

"You ready?" he whispered, glancing over at Beverly even as Richie wandered over to his own room, pulling out his key.

"I'm gonna change into some of my own clothes real quick, Stan's duds work on him, but they're riding up my ass. Short guy pants don't exactly show off my figure." he remarked, turning the key and stepping inside. The words were correct but they weren't delivered with his usual enthusiasm. Instead it was like he was just half heartedly playing a role.

Ben glanced over to him with a bit of concern on his features, before he spoke, hoping to give Richie an opportunity to make an inappropriate joke that would hopefully calm him down. "'Short guy pants', he says. Stan's only shorter than you by a couple of inches, Richie!" he shot back across the hall. It was apparent to Beverly that he was trying to keep Richie's mind off the blood leading into (or perhaps out of) Eddie's room.

Ben heard a short chuckle coming from behind the opened door. "A couple inches can make aaaaall the difference, mark my words, you ask _any lady,_ they'll agree with me!"

Beverly scoffed, pursuing her lips even as she crouched down and worked the two makeshift lockpicks into the doorknob. "Please, size definitely isn't everything. It's all in how you use it." Despite her words she let the ghost of a smile settle over her fair features. It gave her a little bit of hope, hearing them banter weakly even though the circumstances weren't the happiest right now. It made her feel like things were normal, like she could be just jimmying open the door of a Cola machine that had ripped off one of Richie's crumpled old dollar bills back when they were just kids and things like that were the most important issue they had to worry about.

Richie poked his head out of his room with a smirk, having already shed Stan's dress shirt and replaced it with an oversized Blue Öyster Cult tee reminding them all to 'Don't Fear The Reaper.' "I said ask any _lady,_ Miss Marsh, that doesn't apply to young rapscallions like you. I don't know many ladies who can get a door unlocked in two minutes or less using a homemade lockpick."

Bev easily shot him the finger as she kept wriggling the tension wrench just so, picking the tumblers into place. She gave a very unladylike curse as the bobby pin slipped from sweaty fingertips and fell under the crack between the door and the hallway. "Shit-!" she hissed, probing under the door with her fingernails to try and grab it back out.

Loud footsteps echoed up the stairs and Richie swore, stepping back into his room and shutting the door even as Bev bit her lip and quickly stowed the tension wrench away back into her hair, her other hand finally managing to grab the second bobby pin. However, there wasn't enough time for her to stand from her crouching position before the cleaning lady came around the corner with a cart of supplies, her heavily made up features suspicious as she looked Ben and Beverly up and down. To be fair it didn't look good, Bev's fingers shoved under the door on her knees while Ben looked nervous standing above her.

"What are you doing peeking under that door..?" she asked, arms crossed and looking them over suspiciously.

Ben stammered, clearly taken off guard and fumbling for a believable excuse. Beverly got to her feet and smoothed down her blouse slowly, flashing the cleaning lady a warm smile as she held up a silver ring, the interior of which had _'Forever mine~'_ inscribed upon the inside. The woman had no way of knowing Beverly had just tugged it from her pocket and hidden the action as a simple adjustment of her shirt.

"My wedding ring, it slipped off my finger and rolled under the door here...so sorry, I just wanted to find it." The lie came smoothly; likely from years of practice exposing away bruises and injuries to curious parties. 

The woman's face softened as she looked from Ben to Beverly with a small smile. "Pardon me, then, miss. I apologize, it's just with all these murders recently, one can never be too careful. Newlyweds, are you? I can tell, you two are absolutely glowing!"

Beverly's smile cracked slightly as she glanced over to Ben, seeing him beaming at the cleaning lady as if she had just told him Christmas was coming early. "Thank you, ma'am. Sorry for holding you up, we were just heading back to our room..." he said, interlacing his fingers with Bev's even as she passed the pick between their fingers, totally hidden from view. 

The older woman waved a hand at them and shook her head, silver curls bouncing as she did so. "No trouble, no trouble at all. The couple that stayed here were in such a rush, I had just come back from my break and found out they left so soon, even though it's long passed checkout time. These young rich types, I swear, put them behind the wheel of a nice car and suddenly they've got plenty money to waste! Not for a tip, of course, couldn't be bothered..." she trailed off irritably, while Ben and Beverly traded meaningful glances.

"What kind of car?" Ben asked before he had even realized he had spoken up. The cleaning lady sniffed, raising her nose.

"A fancy brand of some kind, I suppose. Dark blue, real nice paint job, leather seats. Looked like the kind of car you could only drive in sunny weather, not the sort you see around _Derry,_ that's for sure! How impractical." she tutted and shook her head, before taking a ring of keys out of her pocket and beginning to fish through them until she found the one labeled '305'. "Excuse me, now, dears, but I have to get moving." She opened the door and let it remain held open by her cart, going about her business of changing the linens and replacing the towels with fresh ones.

Ben glanced towards Richie's room in confusion, noticing it was still shut tightly even though the woman was no longer paying attention. He strode across the hall and tapped at the door softly. "Rich? You alright in there?"

The door shot open and Richie burst out, stumbling into the hallway and shooting the interior of the room a terrified expression, only to find nothing out of the ordinary. Ben and Bev glanced from him to the room, frowning as they saw the way Richie's hands were shaking and he had a faint sheen of sweat around his hairline.

"You, uh. You okay, there, Richie? Did something...happen?" the architect asked softly, as if trying to calm a frightened horse or other animal in danger of fleeing.

The comedian's eyes darted to Ben and he coughed into his fist, clearing his throat as he relaxed his stance and expression, the motion as practiced as if sliding on a mask. "Wh-What? No, I...I'm fine, Haystack. Just can't believe they charged me sixty bucks a night for this shithole. I wonder if the bedbugs got me a discount?" Richie griped, crossing his arms and shaking his head miserably.

A scream came bursting from Eddie's room, and all three of them jumped. Beverly was the first to react, darting over to the doorway. She wasn't sure what she was anticipating, but something decidedly odd was happening around them; whether from this unknown voice Richie and Bill kept hearing or something else entirely, she didn't know. What she wasn't expecting was to see the cleaning lady holding a photograph with a hole through it, face twisted in disgust. 

"Oh my heavens, what sort of filth _is this?"_ she moaned, holding the picture out far from her body and pinched between two fingers, as if not even wanting it to touch her.

Richie's eyes squinted in confusion as he caught sight of the scribbled handwriting on the back, reading _'Alex XOXO'_ in his own handwriting, striding forward to take it from her, his face white. 

It was a photo of himself and his attractive young secretary of a few years back, the one that he hadn't realized until just now looked almost exactly like Eddie Kaspbrak. There was a hole driven through the back of his own head that looked to be made by a high heel, and a single droplet of blood had fallen onto Alex's face, leaving it warped and obscured. 

He sucked in a deep breath; there was no way that this picture could be here, unless...the only person besides him that had access to his bag was Eddie. Could he have found the photo and stolen it? But why? Richie would have thought with all of Eddie's past history that the last thing he would have ever had in his possession would be a nude photograph of two men. 

Had he wanted to confront Richie about the likeness to him? To say how disgusted he was with Richie's affections? His heart sank as he desperately prayed that wasn't the case. Maybe....maybe he had been curious? No, it was far more likely that it had scared and disgusted him. With a heavy heart Richie stowed the photo away into his pocket and glanced up at Bev and Ben, ignoring the cleaning lady's confused look.

"Let's go. They probably hit the edge of town already." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm considering doing an 'Author Reads' of this story, posting a chapter or two a week on my tumblr blog @thelosersclubasshole. Would anyone be interested or is that a stupid idea? Idk :) I'd love to read audiobooks professionally so it would be good practice for me, but as a female in a story predominantly occupied by males that might bother some people. Thoughts from you guys would be excellent. ^^ Thanks for reading!


	52. Speechless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie muses on the voice a bit, and then his mind wanders, typically, back to Eddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This chapter may feel a different compared to the others, but that's because this one was a challenge offered by one of my followers on tumblr. They challenged me to write a chapter starring Richie using absolutely no dialogue, so here you are, dear. ^^ Hope it meets your expectations.

As soon as the cleaning lady walked down the hallway towards them, Richie swore under his breath and shut the door, sliding his fingertips over the chain to lock it behind him. Ben and Beverly were on their own to talk their way out of this one. Mike didn't want any of them to look too involved with each other, not in case whatever stroke of evil that still seemed to reside in Derry tried to make trouble for them with the townspeople.

Richie wanted to call Mike out on his overcautious ways, but in all truthfulness, he felt it the need for it, too.

That menacingly evil voice, it was so achingly familiar but he just couldn't place it. Why was it that only he and Bill had heard it? The horrifyingly evil words it had hissed to him when it shoved past him, forced him back down inside and took control of his body...to see everything that he was doing, and saying, and being unable to stop it...that had scared him deeply. Richie had thought fighting It was about as terrified as he could get, but some sort of entity that was so similar to It and yet unfamiliar? It was a whole new level of fear.

As awful as It was, the Seven knew It, at least as well as any human being ever had. They had fought It to a standstill twice, the second time destroying It's disgusting body, but not before Pennywise managed to rip Eddie away from them. Away from _him._

Even now as he gazed into the darkness of the room, he was scared. Any minute now he was sure, the door to the bathroom would creak open and some nightmarish creature would come prancing out to scare him further. Shouldn't they be _done_ with all of this now? They had killed It! So why were they still being tormented this way? Nothing had been going right for them since bringing Stan, Eddie, and Georgie back from the sewers. It was like somehow, against all odds, It had survived and lingered on.

But that was impossible....wasn't it?

Richie let a small smile cross over his lips at the idea. It was a comfort to pull up the facts and prove to himself once and for all that no, there was no way Pennywise was still clinging onto Derry or the Seven somehow. It had to eat, which meant it needed a body to stay alive. Now that they had killed It's body, Pennywise was gone for good. He barked out a small hysterical giggle into the empty room around him at the very thought that It wasn't dead.

After all, what sort of creature could survive without a body? That was crazy, nothing natural co-

Richie's smile slid off his lips and shattered on the ground below him.

Nothing _natural_ could survive without a body. But...It was the most _un_ natural thing Richie had ever seen. 

The door to the bathroom slowly creaked open, and Richie didn't wait to see what would come out of it. He scrambled backwards, towards the door and undoing the chain with fumbling fingers, stumbling out into the hallway and glancing back with terrified eyes to see what hellish illusion had followed him out.

He heard Beverly and Ben ask if he was alright, Ben even swallowing thickly and asking if he _saw_ something, almost as if he Knew, too.

Flustered and unsure, Richie responded with a quip about the price of the rooms. They would have gotten down to Mike faster if the cleaning lady hadn't spotted the photo, if Richie hadn't taken it and realized with a pit in his stomach that he and Eddie were going to have to have a conversation about this. About Them, with a capital T. 

He didn't know if he was ready for that conversation. Richie was intimately familiar with being rejected, to most people's surprise, and he was all too aware of how easily a break up could make a former friendship crumble into nothing. It was a painful truth, but he didn't think he could handle losing Eddie again. Even if he would still be around, Richie knew that if Eddie was aware of his feelings for the shorter man that went far beyond just those of best friends, it would terrify him. He barely even let men touch him casually as it was, and even then it was only the ones he knew well. How on God's green earth was Richie supposed to start any sort of meaningful relationship with Eddie if he was held back by his fears of his own sexuality? Not to mention that if things went sour it would destroy one of the best friendships of Richie's life. For Christsake's, Eddie hadn't even decided if he wasn't completely straight yet. Richie wasn't sure if Eddie even knew enough about his own stifled sexuality to put a title on it right now.

He _was_ sure that he didn't care. If Eddie was willing to even try, if he identified as gay or bisexual or pan, or any other sexuality that meant he would be comfortable dating Richie, then...

Was it stupid that Richie still wanted to try?

Even knowing all that he could lose, he just couldn't shake that lovely daydream he had, where he and Eddie had a beautiful life together in California. Wasn't that worth fighting for, even if it only had the slimmest chance of coming true?

It would all be up to Eddie, assuming he wasn't disgusted by the similarity between Alex and himself. Now that Richie looked back on it, it was so very clear that Alex and Eddie could have been mistaken for twins. Not only that, but many of the traits Alex shared were those that Eddie also had. That couldn't be an accident, could it..?

Beverly and Ben were giving him a confused look, but Richie just turned and bade them to hurry, taking the steps downstairs two at a time and feeling decidedly anxious to get to Eddie before he could get on a plane.

He had to get to him before he left the city; Richie knew what it had taken to get the hypochondriac to Derry the first time, and he didn't think Eddie would have the strength to do it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prologue of the Author Reads has been recorded, but doesn't seem to want to load on Tumblr. Here's the link if you're interested: https://clyp.it/ky14j1i1
> 
> Pardon the mispronunciation of the word 'anguish' as 'angrish', I was really nervous. :/


	53. Recovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie, Mike, Ben, and Beverly finally find Eddie. His condition is not what they had been hoping it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Here it is, finally, the chapter where Eddie is found. ;) Enjoy!

Beverly bit her lip, glancing over to Ben worriedly as Richie walked several feet in front of them, his dark curls messy even around the bandage as he took the stairs two at a time, tapping Mike briskly on the shoulder as he spun around him and headed for the door.

"Showtime, Michael, chop chop. We gotta blitz, Spaghetti Man's probably halfway to Bangor by now. And now that I'm sobering up enough to vaguely remember some of the shit she said to him when she came into my hospital room, there is _no way_ I'm letting that manipulative bitch take him away from us." he said shortly, fingers tapping anxiously at the glass of the door as he waited for Mike to follow.

Mike looked taken aback at how quickly they had returned, but nodded and turned back to Barbara. "It's been nice talking with you, Miss Holland."

She blinked and smiled back, giving him a small wave. "Stop in and say hello sometime, Mike! Would be nice to have some company when it's slow."

Mike's cheeks went red as he gave her a shy smile, before turning and following behind Bev and Ben as they headed back to the car.

"He's left town?" the librarian inquired quickly as they buckled up, Ben backing up and speeding out of the parking lot 5 mph above the speed limit.

Richie nodded, his leg bouncing up and down impatiently. His long fingers drummed along his thigh, his bracelets wiggling a bit from the motion. His overall persona being displayed was one of someone on the verge of a small breakdown, nervousness palpably increasing with each moment passing that Eddie was not with them.

Ben glanced into the rear view mirror. "Do you think they left town to the north or the south?"

Richie's heart leapt into his throat for a second as he remembered the annoying voice from the hospital saying something about Bangor airport. "North! They went north, Ben!" 

Beverly didn't even question how he could know that, instead pointing out a shortcut to Ben to get them on the fastest route out of town.

"If I remember right, there's only one main road that passes by the Bangor Airport. If we can get there faster, we can cut her off and beat her there." She said quickly, tugging a map out of the glove compartment. Bev didn't bother questioning why on earth Ben had a map of Maine in his glove box when he had lived in Texas for most of his adult life. He liked to be prepared, she wouldn't be surprised if he had one map of every state between the two in there as well. "Yes, Ben, take this left and then head north, we'll be on the fast track."

Mike's hands clenched his knees nervously, glancing from Richie to Ben to Beverly and wishing that somehow there had been a way for them to all meet up again without the threat of demonic clowns hanging over their heads. He hated seeing his friends in danger, and this was twice as bad because _he was the one that had called them all back._ If not for him doing that, Stan would have never killed himself in the first place. Eddie would have never been murdered by It, and Mike wouldn't have been stabbed by Henry Bowers. Audra would still have her sanity and things would have been different...

Mike's vision swam for a moment as he blinked away stubborn tears of guilt. Now wasn't the time to lose focus; they were so close, he could feel it. Besides, if anyone had the right to have a mental breakdown right now, it was Beverly or Richie. Both of them had suffered through extremely traumatic events today, and he had a sinking suspicion that Eddie was going to be in quite a state when they got to him. He remembers the expression on his face as Myra drug him through the hospital lobby, irritation on her features and anguish on his own, his gaze scared and unsure.

Mike also wasn't looking forward to having to deal with Myra. They would all have to put their feet down, including Eddie, to have any chance of her finally leaving him be for awhile. If it was just them standing up to her, it wouldn't get through to her the same way. She would never realize what she was doing was toxic unless Eddie was the one who told her that.

Mike's hand clenched around the armrest as they headed out of town, the sun dipping down low in the sky. He fidgeted restlessly, glancing over at Richie occasionally and frown deepening as he noticed that for as anxious as he himself was, Richie was easily twice as riled up. His fingers were a blur as they drummed across his leg, biting his lip and squinting out past the headlights as if trying to spot any sort of taillights to indicate they had caught up with Eddie and Myra.

To Mike's dawning horror, they spotted skid marks illuminated by the beams of the headlights as they slammed to a halt, Ben's hands clenching tightly around the steering wheel as they turned slightly to the left. The light from the headlights lit up the ditch, and to everyone's horror, the car they were looking for was in the ditch backwards, both passengers gone.

There was dark red blood smeared along the passenger side of the car.

Richie swore once, before lunging forward between Ben and Beverly to gesture wildly out at a point in the distance.

"There, he's there, I can see him up ahead, in the fuckin' road!" Richie hissed frantically, and Ben obediently pulled to a halt right in front of Eddie.

Mike's stomach lurched in horror as he reached for the door handle, body freezing as he gazed at the horrific sight outside the car up close. This couldn't be Eddie; for a moment, Mike was convinced this had to be a performance by Pennywise Itself, except that was impossible. 

Impossible or not, this Eddie-like creature looked like a corpse.

His limbs were trembling hard, body swaying like a leaf as his teeth chattered, the pale and sickly blueish tinge to his skin offset by the inky black stains running down Eddie's chin and covering the front of his shirt. His eyes were glazed over and had faded out to a murky yellow, a sickly amber compared to the deep rich chestnut color they usually were.

Richie froze as he approached him, his large hands trembling faintly as he got close enough to see what a state Eddie was in.

His bottom lip shook dangerously in a mad sort of panic, Richie's eyes darting from the handcuff that seemed to have locked a dead human hand to Eddie's own, to the oily darkness that oozed past those grayish-blue lips and down the side of his chin. As Richie reached out faintly and spotted the hole in Eddie's cheek, the maggots writhing and squirming under his flesh, before he was gagging, words spilling out between his chokes with a desperate plea. 

"Oh, God, his face, look at his _face!"_ Richie moaned, reaching out to gently cup it in his hands. Eddie's skin felt cool against his warm fingers, and that was when his knees buckled and the younger man slumped forward bonelessly.

Richie didn't even hesitate.

His lanky limbs still held surprising strength, and he seemed to easily sweep Eddie up into his arms, face twisted in distress as the driver's head falls back against Richie's shoulder weakly.

Beverly cups her hand over her mouth as she gets close enough to see what's happened to Eddie, mouth opening and closing desperately as she tried to make sense of the situation. Her eyes darted from Eddie to Richie, before turning to Ben and Mike with a scared expression. "Wh...what the hell is going on?!" 

Richie stuttered almost as bad as Bill, biting his lip and turning back to Ben with a pleading expression on his face. "Ben, please, we gotta take him back to the hospital, th-they can fix him, h-his face, his fucking _face-!"_ Richie's voice increased in both pitch and volume, remembering with a faint sort of horror that the voice he had heard had told him that Eddie would look like the one from Neibolt, and he did, eerily so. Not only that, but the blank expression when he had been awake and the maggots reminded Richie sickeningly of the doll of himself back in that cursed clown room.  
Had that been intentional? Had the voice somehow caused this? How could they fix it? Even now, his mind was racing desperately to try and mentally calculate how much money it would cost for one of the better plastic surgeons to repair this horrible damage to Eddie's fair features. He didn't care about the cost, and he wasn't shallow enough for his affections for the younger man to be affected by his looks. Yes, those were nice, too, but what really made him fall in love with Eddie was his fiery personality. However at the moment, that seemed to be absent as well.

Eddie shivered in Richie's arms, eyes falling closed even as he whispered between pale, trembling lips; "M-M-My...My-Myra..."

Richie's arms held Eddie close to him, even as he murmured softly to try and calm him down. "Shhhh, baby, don't worry about her right now, just...just stay calm, okay, we'll figure this out, we will, we _will."_

Mike's eyes fell about three yards past Eddie, where a black high heel lay discarded in the middle of the road. His mind raced with possibilities of what had happened here, but none of them made any rational sense. Things had escalated so quickly, and all he could think of to do was usher Richie and Eddie back towards the car, giving Ben a meaningful look. "We need to get him home, _now,_ Ben!"

The architect nodded firmly, opening the passenger door and helping Richie slip Eddie inside, his head resting on the taller man's lap as his long fingers combed through his hair sort of desperately, as if trying to reassure himself that no matter what Eddie looked like right now, he was still _alive,_ which meant there was still hope.

Mike scooted in next to them, concern gracing his features as he adjusted the shorter man's legs to fold across his own lap, so that Eddie could lay down almost comfortably.

Beverly dug through her purse, clever fingers plucking out a roll of bandages and passing them back to Richie and Mike. "Th...this is all I have with me."

Mike accepted the roll and unwound the long white gauze, before hesitating, unsure where to even begin in their quest to help fix what had happened. His face was the worst of it, unless there were more injuries hidden under his clothes. Dried blood was smeared across his chest, and it took several minutes of anxious probing with his fingertips before Mike realized he had no injury, just the blood that seemed to have no source.

Ben flipped the car around in a three point turn, speeding back to Derry as quickly as the car could handle. He didn't care about the risk of being pulled over right now, not when one of Them was in danger. "Bev, the pliers, pass them back to Mike, he can cut the chain on the handcuff."

Beverly nodded and undid her seatbelt, reaching back with a nervous expression to gently raise Eddie's broken arm, the handcuff and the dead appendage seeming to mock her as she did so.

She firmly held onto Eddie's fingers as she snapped the thin chain with the wire cutter portion of the pliers, gasping in disgust as the hand dropped limply under the seat. "Jesus..!"

Ben kept his eyes on the road, frown intensifying. Something evil had occurred here, something they shouldn't have to deal with anymore because Pennywise was dead. And yet, here they were, racing back to Derry with one of their own, hurt, _again._

Richie let out a strangled noise of terror, and Mike's attention shot to him in an instant. "Richie? What is it?" he demanded, ready for action.

The comedian's fingers traced Eddie's face almost reverently, brown eyes wide as he looked down at him.

Almost as if by magic, as soon as they had passed back within the Derry city limits, the color had begun to flow back into Eddie's face. The holes in his flesh knitted themselves back together, any sign of maggots and parasites vanishing with each mile they took closer to the heart of the city. Mike gaped, uncomprehending. This wasn't natural; even with as happy as he was that Eddie seemed to have healed in a matter of minutes, this held the possibility of being a sign of something awful.

His mind darted to the Turtle, the fact that Eddie, Stan, and Georgie had been resurrected. Mike was getting the strangest pit in his stomach, one that suggested that because of the magic that had brought them back, the three they had lost were now hopelessly tied to Derry. As soon as he tried to leave, got too far away from the place it had all began, the magic began to vanish, leaving Eddie as nothing more than an animated corpse.

"We need to tell Stan and Bill about this." he said softly, worry coloring his tone even as Richie looked over at him, heart in his throat, and nodded slowly.

And now, Mike _knew_ how they would handle this.

They would handle this as they always had: together.


	54. You Are Now Leaving Derry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The car ride back into Derry has some startling complications when they discover a shocking sight with the town's sign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning everyone! Hope you're ready for some Reddie, the next few chapters will heavily feature Reddie and Benverly in the wake of the new revelations that are being discovered. ^^ Hope everyone is Reddie for it. (Goddamn it why am I allowed to write :/)

Eddie didn't stir, still lying limply in Richie's arms. The comedian was curled over him protectively, his long curly black locks hanging over his forehead and obscuring his eyes even as his long fingertips gently traced light patterns reverently across the curve of Eddie's jawline, as if Richie couldn't even believe he was real. 

Mike had used the pliers to pick up the corpse's hand by the chain of the cuff still attached to it, throwing it out of the window. A small part of himself was thinking frantically, _'what if the police find it and it had Eddie's fingerprints?'_ but the less rational side merely grimaced reluctantly upon thinking, _'they can't even see it, so what's the point?'_

As they followed the road that led closer to the town that had simultaneously ruined their lives and saved them, the cheerful yellow sign announcing 'Welcome to Derry'. 

However, as Ben drifted closer to it, Beverly's eyes squinted, spying someone leaning against it, perched there unnaturally. They looked rather short, one hand on their hip and the other hanging at their side.

Ben's eyes widened in horror as they drew ever closer, realizing that whoever was leaning against the sign was definitely _not alive._

The body leaning up against the sign had been dead for at least a few hours, as rigor mortis had already set in enough that he could be leaned back against the sign and stand without any support. The body was wearing a black leather jacket that was soaked in blood, most of it pouring from the remains of a shredded and ruined chest cavity. The collar of the jacket was popped, but it was popped around nothing. The man's head wasn't attached to his neck; instead, his head was tucked comfortably under his own left arm, like a biker might hold his helmet in a rather sickening parody of normalcy. 

As they grew closer still, Beverly screamed, his identity clear enough for her to recognize him as her once-boyfriend. _"T-Tom!"_ she wailed, lips curled outwards in horror at the sight. Yes, he was evil and vicious to her most of the time, but that was the hard part about abusive relationships. There had been good times, too, some of her happiest aside from memories of playing jungle safari in the Barrens with six other boys, two of them delicate and careful about where they put their feet to avoid trodding aimlessly into mud, one of them eagerly splashing about in each puddle he came across and scattering thick clumps of muddy water up his skinny legs and soaking into his secondhand shoes, just for the pleasure of seeing everyone else squeal and scatter away. One of them was strong and muscular, scaling a tree with ease to escape a wandering man-eating tiger. One of them was resourceful, and hid his larger frame relatively successfully in a bush. One of them had a stutter and eyes like the ocean, and in that instant, standing behind him as they walked a well worn path through their childhood sanctuary, Beverly would have followed him anywhere. Into the woods, into the jungle, into the _sewers;_ past man eating-tigers and child-eating clowns. 

She loved him, once.

Maybe she still did, but not the same way. Not anymore. Those childish days of longing affection and worshipful desire were long behind her, now, and her future lay ahead. _'No pun intended-'_ she thought hysterically as her eyes seemed to lock onto Tom's lifeless ones, staring bugged out in two different directions while his expressionless face seemed to implore them to turn back.

Ben reached over the console to press his warm hand gently over Beverly's eyes. "D...Don't look at him, Bev, not like this..."

Her own fingertips came up to cup around his hand and pull it down, interlacing his fingers with her own. "I...I can handle it, Ben." Her voice shook but her tone was determined.

Ben looked at her rather sadly. "I...I wish you didn't have to." he murmured, averting his eyes as they passed the sign.

Richie spoke up suddenly, startling everyone else in the car; they had assumed he was so wrapped up in Eddie's safety that he wouldn't have even noticed. "That's him, that's fuckin' _him!_ He was wearing the same thing just this morning- fuck, Christ, that was the body I saw in that goddamn vision!" His words fell from terrified lips, his arms wrapping around Eddie protectively as if guarding him from whatever had caused this.

Mike's clever eyes picked up on one fact nobody else seemed to have noticed.

"His....his left hand was missing."

Beverly gagged for a moment but swatted Mike away gently when he leaned forward to try and help. "I...I'm fine, it's okay, it's fine."

They all knew where the other hand was; bouncing down the highway about two miles back.

Richie and Mike spun around to look at the back of the sign and freezing as they saw what somebody had done to it.

Instead of reading _You Are Now Leaving Derry!_ as it had religiously stated for the past fifty years or more, deep red paint (or worse) had been splattered over the word 'Now' to change it to 'Never'.

_You Are **Never** Leaving Derry!_

Mike's hands clenched in the armrest ever tighter, to the point where he was convinced he might leave half moon shaped crescents around it that would never come out. "We...we should take Eddie home first. Then we can go back to the hospital for Bill and Stan." The sound of his own voice startled the librarian, seeming unnaturally loud in the small car for just a single instant. Richie was nodding at him with half lidded eyes; it was clear the stress of the day was catching up to him more quickly than any of them had expected.

Beverly agreed as well, squeezing Ben's hand tightly to try and get the image of Tom's mutilated corpse out of her mind. Did it make her a monster that a small part of her was happy to know he couldn't hurt her or her friends again? It must; normal people weren't happy when other people were dead. She hung her head down low as she was quietly ashamed of herself.

Ben remained quiet for the remainder of the drive, just shooting her curious glances every few minutes in a silent unspoken query of if she was alright.

No, she wasn't alright.

None of them were. 

And if what Mike, Ben, and Richie were thinking was correct, none of the Losers may ever be alright ever again.


	55. The Men's Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan teaches Georgie how to play sudoku and muses on his feelings for Bill. He gets an unexpected visitor as soon as he's alone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We broke 1200 kudos!! You guys are amazing, thank you so much!!

Stan, Bill, and Georgie had no way of knowing what was happening with their friends on the other side of town.

They had no way of knowing, and yet... Stan felt the oddest prickling sensation running up and down his spine, as though someone was staring directly at him. He ran a hand through his curly locks while he sat and tried to explain the rules of sudoku to Georgie, the six year old giggling in a carefree sort of way. Bill was carefully sketched on the back of a discarded magazine in pen. The feeling of being watched made Stan feel slightly uncomfortable and he shivered, looking around the waiting room as if expecting to see someone gazing at him intently. As he had thought, there was nobody there. Stan swallowed the lump in his throat and turned back to Georgie. 

"See, you have to make sure that you only have one of each number in each box, and the same in each row..."

Georgie blinked up at him with large brown eyes, hands reaching for the fresh sudoku book and the pen. "I got it, I can do it, Stanny, c'mon, lemme try..."

Stanley regarded him with a slightly  
skeptical expression, before handing over the pen and the book. "Don't forget; numbers 1-9 in each row up and down, left and right, and in each box."

Georgie giggled as he climbed up and perched himself on Stan's lap, legs swinging happily as he put pen to paper and began to 'solve' the puzzle. Stan couldn't help but smile at Georgie's genuine enthusiasm, and he had paid rapt attention to the entire detailed explanation of how to play successfully, and Georgie knew his numbers up to ten, so perhaps he actually would find the game fun..?

Stan blinked in bemused exasperation as Georgie happily filled in every single empty space with the number 9. "Done, Stan!" he announced proudly, presenting him with the finished page and beaming up at him with a smile as sunny as any Bill had ever given him as a child.

Speaking of Bill, as Stan's fingers lifted the book into his hands and made a dramatic show of checking Georgie's 'solution' with the answers in the back of the book, he could once again feel eyes on him. He glanced up and found Bill staring directly at him, his gaze fond and somewhat wistful. Stan arched a single eyebrow in a wordless question and Bill's cheeks immediately colored a dark red, his blue eyes darting back to the magazine he was drawing over quickly.

"Something I can help you with?" Stan asked dryly, simultaneously raising the sudoku book out of Georgie's reach as the six year old wiggled and made an impatient grab for it. "Just a minute, Georgie, I promise I'll check it."

Bill's cheeks grew darker as he scribbled madly with his pen on the back of the magazine, shaking his head. "N-nuh-nothing, I-I'm suh-sorry if I muh-made you un-uncom-uncomfortable."

Georgie stuck out his bottom lip and crossed his arms, giving Bill a pout. "Billllyyyyy, why're you starin' at Stan? You're makin' him blush and pay attention to you instead of me!"

Stan's hand flew up to his left cheek as if not believing Georgie, stunned to find how warm it was. Drat, so he really had been blushing...that was the last thing he wanted to do right now, was act interested and give Bill false hope. Although now that Georgie had pointed it out, that Bill had been staring at him, he found his traitorous eyes drifting over to the left to Bill more and more often. 

As Stan forced his eyes back down to the sudoku book for the umpteenth time, he let out a small sigh of self irritation. He had already told Bill 'no', had already rejected him, and it would do no good to daydream about 'what ifs' when he was the one to put a stop to their little 'budding relationship' before it could even begin. Even though what he really wanted was to trade seats and sit next to the author, to watch his clever fingers sketch out beautiful or monstrous illustrations like he used to as a child. He would watch Bill draw for hours, his own brown eyes mapping out the other teen's face, that haircut that let his bangs droop lightly into his eyes, his lips wet from how many times his tongue had darted out to trace over them, his clever fingers moving faintly as the paper came to life under his fingertips...

He had been beautiful, a glowing blue light in Stan's otherwise muted grey world. He stood out above everyone else Stan knew for several reasons. He was a soft spoken boy who stuttered, who often took forever to finally spit a word from between his stubborn lips, whose cheeks would glow like Rudolph's nose when he had to speak in front of a group, who had lost more than any boy of age twelve should ever have to lose. Bill lead them effortlessly, despite every hardship life had funneled his way; despite his stutter and his dead brother and his parents that had slowly stopped caring. Despite the fact that he was a Loser and hung around with the Trashmouth, the Jew, and the faggot boy. 

Despite the fact that Henry liked to trip him in the hallways and knock his books from his hands, Bill would slowly get to his feet and collect his things, and be on his way, continuing the conversation where he had left off, cheeks pink even as the hallways roared with laughter of their peers. Stan would loop his arm over Bill's shoulders, scowl back at the Bowers' Gang, and carry on as if nothing had happened. 

Despite all of that, he was still Big Bill. 

Stan swallowed hard as another thought flitted through his mind. 

_'Despite all that, he's still **married,** Stan, just because your wife doesn't remember you doesn't mean you can take advantage of the situation and ruin Bill's marriage with Audra!'_

Stan told himself that firmly, clearing his throat and passing Georgie the sudoku book back. "You did a good job, Georgie, but don't forget about 1-8...there are more numbers than just 9, okay? Why don't you try again, and I'll be right back...?"

He gently lifted Georgie up from his lap, settling him down in his own chair. His fingers tousled through the boy's caramel colored locks, unable to keep his lips from curling into a fond smile as Georgie nodded happily and flipped to a clean page, pen hovering about two inches above the paper as he poked his small tongue out of his mouth in thought. 

He felt Bill's eyes helplessly follow him as he strode from the waiting room down the hall, past Audra's room, and towards the men's bathroom. Stan's thoughts were racing, mostly thoughts of Bill, and how he had insisted that he loved both Stan _and_ Audra. He didn't know if such a thing was even possible. Surely if Bill truly loved Audra with all of his heart, he never would have fallen in love with Stan, would he? Then again, he had met Stan first...things got awfully complicated when you factored in memory loss and fights with evil inter-dimensional clown entities.

The former accountant sighed wearily and rubbed at his temples as he stepped into the bathroom, unaware of the second figure that had slipped silently after him and closed the door behind them, eyes firmly locked on his form.

They stood in the shadows of the bathroom and stared intently, even as Stan remained blissfully ignorant of the fact that he had company, his shaky hands turning on the sink faucet as he splashed cold water onto his face, as if hoping to wash his flush away. As he raised his eyes to glance at himself in the mirror, he froze, seeing the shadowy figure behind him rush forward. 

Stan screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: The identity of the person who followed Stan into the bathroom is revealed! *twilight zone music plays*


	56. Speak To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan is startled by an unlikely visitor in the men's room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I loved reading everyone's guesses, although only mmj got it correct! Great job, dear! ;) Although big shout out to LokiGodOfMischief for the guess of Henry Bowers and the Painting Lady's Unholy Offspring. XD

Stan scrambled backwards, slamming the back of his elbow violently into the bathroom sink in his quest to get away. All he could make out was a silhouette of a long haired, tall woman with something long and skinny held in her hands. It was like he was back in his father's office, the painting just a background, gazing into the shadows. His breathing quickened in an instant, face losing all color as he trembled, too terrified to do anything more than shake and stare helplessly at his worst nightmare come true. 

He could already hear the flute music, could feel long bony fingers clutching at his shoulders, forcing him to the ground with unnatural strength, sharp needlelike teeth digging in as she latched onto his face like a leech, his body jerking and writhing as he let out a scream that was swallowed up by the woman in the painting.

He was alone, back then, with nothing but his nightmares for company even as he screamed and stared into the deadlights and was completely unmade.

_(they're not your friends they're not they left you they made you go into neibolt and left you)_

He was alone, _now,_ with nobody aware of where he was except Bill. Last time he had chosen Georgie over him...would it happen again?

It took several long minutes before Stan realized she hadn't stepped forwards any further, merely staring out at him from a corner of the bathroom, the lighting too dim to make out anything besides her hands.

Her fingers were the only thing catching the light, sparkles glinting off a diamond ring on her left hand. 

Stan forced himself to breathe, then, hardly aware that he had even stopped, the breath rushing into his lungs so quickly it almost made him lightheaded. "Wh...who are you?" he asked, voice trembling despite his attempt to keep himself sounding calm and in control.

Audra Denbrough slowly stepped out into the light, her blank features regarding him with a quiet curiosity. Her feet were bare and she was still clad in her hospital gown, her long dark auburn locks cascading down her back in the sloppy braid Bill had attempted before.

In her fingers was _not_ a flute as he had previously thought, but a tightly rolled up newspaper. She pressed it into his chest, eyes darting up to meet his for a split second before flicking away as Stan took the paper from her outstretched fingers. A sort of quiet confusion graced his features as he gently unrolled it, wondering what was important enough for her to get out of bed and bring it to him.

It was today's newspaper, opened carefully to a new blank sudoku puzzle.

"A-Audra..." Stan breathed, giving her a small shaky smile. "Thank you...we, we should get you back to your room, it's not safe to walk around a hospital with no shoes..." Inwardly he was stunned; Audra appeared to be making progress towards snapping out of the catatonic state, but the real question on his mind was _'Why me?'_ Audra had spent a grand total of about ten minutes in his company so far, so he couldn't help but wonder why she came to him instead of going to Bill?

Audra stared at him blankly, her blue eyes disturbingly empty even as he gently steered her out of the bathroom and back out to the waiting room. She walked rather mechanically, like a sleepwalker or a prisoner being led to the awaiting gallows. Bill was still glancing down at his drawing, the length of his hand and pinkie finger stained faintly blue from resting them against the paper. He seemed to sense them enter rather than hear or see them coming. Bill glanced up for a moment before his eyes widened, standing up and letting the magazine and the pen drop to the floor.

"A-Audra...? Stan, wh-why did yuh-you tuh-take her out of her room..?" His tone was neither angry nor accusing. Bill trusted the other man enough to know that if he had gone to the trouble to get Audra up and out of bed, there must be a good reason for it. He stepped forward, carefully avoiding Georgie who had eagerly flung his arms around Audra's knees.

"Hi, Audra!" he said gleefully, reaching up to take her limp hand between his small, warmer ones.

Stan shook his head quickly, giving a faint disbelieving smile at Georgie and Bill. 

"Bill...Audra came and found me herself. She brought me this." He unfurled the newspaper to the fresh sudoku puzzle, Bill's eyes widening in realization.

"Audra...you're...y-you're...still in th-there, aren't yuh-you?" Bill breathed, giving a small sigh of relief even as he gently tugged her forward into his arms. She didn't reciprocate, but that was okay with Bill. Any sign that she might be able to snap out of this trance for good was a welcome one.

"Helps." 

The voice which had spoken was neither of theirs. It was creaky with disuse, worn like a pair of well loved leather shoes that were in desperate need of polish. It was low in pitch and high in tone, a symphony of angels that Bill hadn't thought he would ever get to hear again. He pulled Audra out to arm's length in shock, his hopes crushed when he saw that she was still gazing over his shoulder absentmindedly.

Stan gently placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Don't be discouraged, Bill...she's made incredible progress. You just have to be patient with her, and she'll come back to you."

Bill swallowed a lump in his throat, feeling foolish for being upset. Stan was right, as he usually was. Audra had made an incredible amount of progress towards snapping out of the trance; it was unfair of him to expect or desire more from her when it was clear she was trying her best. He just wanted his wife back so badly he could almost taste it.

Stan squeezed his shoulder again and was surprised when Bill tugged him into a hug; Audra tucked under one arm, Stan under the other. Georgie giggled from his place still clinging to Audra's knees, reaching out to encircle Stan's own legs in his arms as well. The accountant fidgeted a bit awkwardly for a moment before he sighed and returned the hug, allowing Bill (and himself, although he would deny it adamantly if asked) the comfort that he needed, a reluctantly amused smirk gracing his features. 

Although neither of the boys could see it from their current position, Audra had a ghost of a smile on her lips. 

Georgie looked up, beaming, and decided then and there that a smile suited the both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized that this chapter puts us over 100,000 words. Good LORD I've never even come close to writing anything this long, EVER. Thank you all so much, your kind words and love for these characters has kept me writing, hopefully this journey you've all embarked on with me will be worth it in the end. Much love!


	57. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan and Bill ponder why Audra came looking for Stan instead of Bill. Bill helps Georgie read his new book, then gets an urgent phone call from Mike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning all! Hope you guys are ready for a bit more Stenbrough + Georgie fluff before we go back to the others. ;3

Bill sighed as he buried his nose into the side of her head, inhaling the scent of Audra's shampoo mixed with hospital soap and faintly, barely noticeably, the scent of the sewer. Audra had spoken, that was a huge amount of progress in such a short span of time.

Still, one thing was bothering Bill, as he glanced up from where he had hidden himself. His eyes found Stan's, and he reluctantly pulled away from Audra, still keeping his arms looped lightly around her shoulders in a loose embrace.

"Wh-whuh...Why d-do you th-think she came t-to you...?" Bill asked, curiosity setting his nerves afire. Audra hadn't appeared particularly interested in the man earlier, when they had been visiting her.

Stan blinked and gave a short shrug, his hand coming up to rub at his chin in thought. "I...I'm not sure. I wasn't even doing a sudoku puzzle when we were in her room, so I don't know how she could have possibly known..."

Bill colored, then, averting his eyes somewhat sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his head. Stan paused in mid-thought, regarding Bill with a confused expression as he arched a single eyebrow.

"Do...you know something that I don't?"

Bill sighed and gently steered Audra towards a seat, where she lowered herself rather mechanically. Bill sat next to her left side and Georgie eagerly took her lap, wriggling up and opening up his book of scary stories as he pointed out the terrifying illustrations to her. Her gaze wasn't even directed at the page; instead, it was cast off to the painting of a beach scene on the wall, filled with colorful illustrations of jellyfish, tropical aquatic life, and one very large sea turtle. Georgie didn't seem to mind in the slightest.

Bill sighed once to try and get his stutter under control enough to communicate, even though there had rarely been a time in either man's life where Stan had been unable to decipher what Bill was trying to say. "I-I...buh-before you c-came in, I wuh-was telling Audra abou-about you. I tuh-told her you luh-liked to do sudo-sudu-sudoku puzzles buh-because it h-helps with your OCD."

Stan blinked in mild surprise outwardly while on the inside he was stunned. Why on earth was Bill spending valuable time talking to his wife about him? "Oh...maybe that's what she meant when she said 'helps'?" Stan offered, although there was no true way to be completely sure. Audra certainly wasn't in a condition to explain herself, dreamy eyes having slowly gravitated down to gaze at Georgie's book without truly seeing. The six year old was babbling happily as he told her a story, his ability to read more than simple words a bit shaky for right now. Still, he tried his best, substituting the words he didn't ever get the chance to learn with new ones, ones that changed 'Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark' from a nightmarish book of horror into a happy tale about all the illustrations all being best friends with each other.

Bill watched the scene with a mixed sense of melancholy. If things had been different, perhaps it would be Audra reading the book to Georgie, helping him with the difficult words and smiling down at him when he got one right. 

Instead, Audra was present but not really there, like a decorative doll posed to appeal only to the eyes. Bill looked at her and saw an empty shell of the woman he married, an atrocity that he had no way of fixing. Storming into a sewer to slay the beast that had stolen his wife's mind was impossible when the beast was dead.

Stan, meanwhile, had crouched down for a moment to pick up Bill's discarded magazine and pen. The back was facedown, and he took a moment to smirk at the magazine when he realized it was a copy of In Touch, with the front page advertising that America's favorite comedian, Richie 'Records' Tozier, had been assaulted by a crazed fan only the day prior, and likely would have been killed if not for the 'courageous actions of a longtime friend'. Stan took the time to mentally pat himself on the back for a job well done. _'Let's see any lawyer around here attempt to prosecute Eddie after this.'_ he thought smugly, before flipping the magazine over to see what Bill had drawn.

He froze, blinking in surprise as he saw a remarkably accurate sketch of himself, Georgie, and Audra, all clustered in a semicircle in the waiting room and reading the children's book together. Stan took a moment to marvel at Bill's artistic ability, his fingers tracing the lines of his own face in wonder. The overall look of the work was scratchy and quick; Stan was certain that Bill could have set the scene much better with his paints in front of him, but nonetheless it was still excellent. Georgie's face was scrunched up in confusion in the drawing, while Audra's finger pointed out a word on the page. Stan's face was a somber but contented smile, accurate to the real life version's usual efforts to remain outwardly calm.

Stan glanced around for a moment, seeing Bill was distracted with Audra and Georgie for the moment, and delicately removed the back cover from the magazine, before folding it carefully into thirds and slipping it into his pocket. 

Bill didn't seem to notice, but his blush had made a reappearance on his cheeks as he pointed out a word to Georgie on the page and patiently helped him sound it out.

"Nih...nih...th-there you go, keep trying, wh-what's next...?"

Georgie squinted as if hoping the word would suddenly make sense to him. "Nuh...nihhh..."

Bill pressed his thumb down over the second half of the word, smiling down at him. "Let's tuh-try it now. You know th-this w-word by itself, ruh-right..?"

Georgie blinked once and his face lit up. "Oh! Night! I forgot that the 'g' and the 'h' together don't make a sound. That's a tricky one, Billy."

Bill smiled and moved his thumb over so that the first half of the word was obscured. "J-Just checking to suh-see if you p-paid atten-tention to M-Ms. Pillbough."

Georgie stuck his tongue out. "I did too pay attention! She's really pretty." he said with a giggle. "I'm gonna marry her when I grow up."

Bill gave a small smile at the idea that now, somehow, _miraculously,_ Georgie would have the chance to grow up.

The boy gasped suddenly, covering his mouth. "Oh, no! I forgot about all the homework I missed! Mom's gonna have a bird if I don't get good grades even though it's just kindergarten. I gotta catch up!"

And just like that, Bill's good mood evaporated like mist. His thumb fell off the word 'nightmare', biting his lip as he tried to summon the words to explain to Georgie that twenty seven years had gone by without him. He could tell that the boy had questions, could see them as his eyes lit up with confusion and excitement at each new high tech toy at the general store, or in the way that the stoplights he was family with had been replaced by taller, newer ones seemingly overnight. If Georgie was any older, he probably would have demanded answers. But, as it was, Georgie was six years old. He believed anything his big brother told him to be true, even if that big brother was now older than their father was when Georgie had died initially. 

"Juh-Georgie..." he began slowly, unsure.

Georgie hummed, appearing deep in thought as he covered 'night' with his own thumb, before his eyes lit up and he whirled around in Audra's lap to beam up at Bill. "Oh! It's 'mare', isn't it? Night...mare! Nightmare! Did I get it?" His excitement was palpable, and once again, Bill didn't have the heart to shatter that for him.

He gave a gentle smile, his large hand rubbed Georgie's back proudly. "You sh-sure did, kiddo. Great juh-job."

A nurse poked her head into the room, knocking firmly on the door to announce her arrival. The sharp rap of her knuckles against the faux wood made Stan jolt to awareness, having been distracted by the pretty picture Bill, Audra, and Georgie made up. 

"Excuse me, is there a Bill Denbrough here?" she asked.

Bill frowned in confusion but inclined his head. "That'd b-be me."

The nurse gestured with her head back the way she had come. "Phone for you at the nurse's station. A Mister Hanlon? He says it's urgent."

Bill's eyes widened minutely and Stan frowned as he glanced from Audra back to the nurse even as Bill got to his feet. 

"Can yuh-you wait here wuh-with them? Just f-for a suh-second?" Bill asked breathlessly, already walking towards the door, his head turned to catch Stan's reply.

Stan nodded, still distracted by his own query, "Of course." Audra was obviously still a patient, clad in nothing but the hospital gown, her painted toes shimmering pale silver glitter up at the ceiling. And yet not one of the nurses had paid any attention to her at all. It was like she was merely a piece of living, breathing furniture in the room, not even worth their notice or a second glance.

"Y-You're a lifesuh-saver, Stan. I'll be r-right buh-back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: The other Losers discuss what exactly is going on and reluctanctly consider some unpleasant truths.


	58. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie, Bev, Ben, and Mike discuss the mysterious voice and theorize if It has really been killed or not.

There was a certain level of dread in the car during the ride back that hadn't been present during their journey to find Eddie. Sure, Richie had been antsy and jumpy, and Mike, Ben, and Beverly had been worried about the possibility of them not catching Eddie and Myra in time, but this was something else. Bev was wringing her lighter in her hands, fidgeting and pointedly avoiding looking out the window for fear of what she might see.

Anything and everything they drive by that looked even remotely out of place caused each of their hearts to racket up a couple of beats per minute, nervous glances and shuffling feet echoing around the car until finally Mike could stand it no longer.

"We...we should talk about this. What this all means." His voice was soft but his tone was firm. He had never been one to run away when things got challenging, and this was no exception.

Richie glanced up, his black curls bouncing as he did so. His eyes were worried even though he spoke dryly to hide that fact. "Why does it have to mean _anything?_ I mean, we found Eds, we're bringing him ho- back to your place."

Beverly bit her lip at Richie's slip of the tongue, turning around to face him somberly. "You...you were going to call it 'home', weren't you, just then?"

Richie scowled, keeping his voice low to avoid waking Eddie up. His own head was throbbing, part of the side effects of a concussion, and his temper was starting to show. "So what if I was? I misspoke, big fuckin' deal."

Ben frowned, glancing into the rear view mirror until his eyes met Richie's. "I think Mike is right. We need to...talk about this. We can all agree that _something_ is going on, here, and if we don't talk about it, we'll-"

Richie crossed his arms, making a small huff of disgust as he interrupted. "Fine, then. Let's talk. Let's talk about how somehow, the damn clown that we _killed_ is making spooky shit happen again! And let's talk about how Stan is going to freak the _fuck_ out when he hears about this, it's gonna tear him apart. And let's talk about how Bill's gonna get all broody and angsty, and probably pack up Georgie and Audra and get the hell outta this shitty town as fast as the nearest plane can take him! But, oh, wait, he can't do that, either, because for some reason as soon as Eds crossed the county line, he started looking like a fucking Michael Jackson 'Thriller' impersonator! I got five hundred bucks that says the same shit will happen to Georgie and Stan if they try and hit the road, too!" He didn't even seem to realize that his volume had increased until Bev flicked him on the nose and gestured pointedly down at Eddie. 

The chauffeur had started to stir for a moment, his expression twisting into one of mild irritation before he mumbled under his breath, "....mmf...beep beep, 'Chee." He shifted once but didn't make any move to wake up further, curling into Richie with a faint sigh. 

Richie froze, biting his lip as he glanced down, one hand still playing idly with brown locks while the other was holding Eddie's left hand. He felt the smaller man squeeze once before the furrow between his brows relaxed, and he slowly went still again. Richie glanced up at Mike before he gave a soft sigh, shaking his head. 

"I just...goddamn it, we've given enough to this shit town already without doing it all over again." he finished much more quietly, the anger gone from his tone as quickly as it had arisen.

Beverly turned back to face forward, her fingers on her good hand flicking her empty turtle lighter over and over just to give her something to fiddle with. "I...how can it be...Pennywise? I mean...w-we ripped It's heart out! Eddie and Stan said they saw the corpse in the sewers."

Mike sighed, rubbing at his temples where the few stubborn gray hairs were forming. "We thought we killed It the first time, too. Now, we _all_ saw something today. First it was Richie being possessed, then Eddie looking like, well...you saw, then...Tom."

Beverly bit her lip at the mention of his name, but couldn't bring herself to feel anything besides a sort of hollow emptiness at the vivid announcement of his passing.

Richie spoke again, lowly, his expression torn. "The voice, whatever it was...it sounded _human,_ in my head, I-I _swear_ that it did!"

Ben hummed idly in thought, his large, calloused fingers drumming against the steering wheel absentmindedly. "Remember, back at the hospital, you said that the voice wanted one of us. Any of us. What for? Do you remember _why?"_

Richie furrowed his brow, concentrating hard. "I...I can't remember. I...I think... maybe whatever the voice is... doesn't _want_ me to remember. I know it's important, really fucking important, but it's like..." he waved his hand about in a helpless sort of gesture, as if unsure how to explain the gap in his memory.

Mike frowned in thought. "Is it the same as when you got the phone call from me? The...selective amnesia?" The way the Losers had described it at the Chinese restaurant _(and wasn't that strange to think that had only been a week ago? It felt like years.)_ was that if prompted, they could recall that they grew up in Derry. Objectively they knew they each had some friends, and sometimes on a good day they could even remember their names. However, if they were asked to describe anything about their childhoods beyond average knowledge; if they were asked to describe the summer when they were thirteen? None of them would have been able to draw up a single specific memory.

Richie grimaced, and by his facial expression alone, Mike could tell he had hit the metaphorical nail on the head. 

"So, this 'voice' that you and Bill heard...can we safely assume that it's Pennywise, somehow?" Ben asked softly from the driver's seat.

Bev let out a shaky exhale, clearly not wanting that to be the case but unwilling to ignore the truth before her eyes.

Mike leaned back against the seat, abruptly feeling very tired. "I think we can all agree that this voice has a similar flair for the dramatic. It...it feels similar...I don't know if we'll ever know what it truly is. Maybe it is Pennywise, and maybe not. What we do know, is that it already has one victim under its belt, and possibly two, if that high heel in the road was any indication." He gently interlaced his fingers in his lap, as if praying to any deity who was listening that this wasn't real.

Beverly's eyebrows shot up to her hairline as she spun around to face Richie. "I don't know if you remember, but you said that the voice felt weak at first, but it was slowly getting stronger."

Richie's eyes lit up, snapping his fingers and pointing at Bev. "Yeah, hey, you're right! I remember that much, at least. That, and...glowing yellow eyes."

Mike frowned, rubbing at his chin, deep in thought. If the voice was getting stronger... "Tom's body. It looked like it had been...pretty mangled. And in Richie's vision, he saw a figure with glowing yellow eyes eating someone with no head and a missing hand." He scarcely even realized he had spoken, but as soon as his words hit the open air, Richie began to nod in agreement.

Ben grimaced, shooting a worried look over at Beverly. She had gone pale, her fair skin nearly matching the bandages over her nose. Despite her current feelings, she nodded firmly, sliding her lighter back into her pocket and fixing Ben with a faint twitch of her lips upwards to show she would be alright.

"So we know that whatever it is, it needs food. Maybe that's how it's getting stronger?" Bev offered, her voice steady even as her painted nails drummed along the middle console. She glanced down at her blue coat, still stained with dried blood from the incident with Tom that had happened just this morning. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and despite the fact that the sun had barely dipped below the horizon, she was exhausted. They all were.

"I think we need to talk about this with Bill and Stan before we decide anything about this voice. Bill's heard the voice too, so he might know something we don't." Ben offered, glancing up into the rear view mirror even as he pulled into the driveway at Mike's house. 

Mike inclined his head. "Agreed. It feels like it may be targeting us individually. First with Eddie, trying to get him out of town and alone, then possessing Richie...who knows who could be next? I should give Bill a call, so they know that...something is coming."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Finally, the Reddie that you all have patiently been waiting for 100,000+ words will arrive in a special extra long chapter! :) Should be fun!


	59. The Most Unfunny Joke Of Them All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie carries Eddie upstairs and tries to lay him down on the bed. Eddie, still asleep, has other ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you guys like this chapter, I had a blast writing it and feel like it's one of my better ones so far. ;) Hopefully all the Reddie shippers will approve.

Mike opened the car door and gently shifted himself out, making sure not to jostle Eddie's legs enough to wake him up. Richie got out of the car as well, brushing his Hawaiian shirt free of imaginary dust before gently sliding his arms under the backs of Eddie's knees and behind his shoulders. He lifted the shorter man into his arms, momentarily surprised by how heavy he was now.

The last time he had held Eddie in a manner even close to this had been twenty seven years prior, during a game in the quarry. 

The memory seemed so long ago and so very far away, when in reality the quarry was only a ten minute bike ride from Richie's old house. If he could ride his bike through time, he would be back there with his childhood friends before sundown, as long as the Bowers' Gang wasn't waiting along the Kissing Bridge smoking stolen cigarettes as they usually were near sunset.

And how funny was it that even after all this time had passed them all by, Richie could still remember a silly thing like that? He sighed, the memory sweeping over him like the waves rippling off the rocks along the quarry's shore.

_It had been Mike and Bev versus Richie and Eddie, in a contest to see who could push the others over first. Bev had giggled, perched on Mike's broad and suntanned shoulders, her painted toes glittering a lovely shade of sunshiny yellow that shone even brighter next to the young man's warmer skin tone. The pair of them balanced atop one another reflected off the water in unsteady ripples; light and dark complexion, fiery red and earthy brown hair contrasting perfectly._

_Eddie had grumbled about how Richie was going to drop him, shimmying unsteadily onto Richie's bony and pale shoulders while the taller of the two laughed in a carefree sort of way and grabbed tightly onto his ankles to hold him still. The sun shone through the trees to cast shimmery shadows of leaves and twigs against the teenagers in uneven layers of warmth and alternating cool spots in the late summer water._

_"Steady as she goes there, me hearty! We're about to teach this sorry lass an' her first mate a thing'r two about messin' with the likes of Cap'n Trashmouth 'n his loyal manservant, Wheezy!" Richie crowed triumphantly._

_Eddie huffed indignantly even as his hands gripped Richie's head tightly, his body stiff and uncomfortable being far away from the water. One hand tangled desperately in wet, messy black curls while the other was splayed across Richie's forehead, knocking his oversized glasses ever further down his nose. "H-Hey, how come Mike's a first mate and I have to be a 'loyal manservant', anyway? That's bullshit! Pirates didn't even **have** manservants!"_

_Richie just cackled and continued parroting on in his bad pirate Voice about how thoroughly they were going to trounce everyone else, while Bill swam over to a rock and crouched down so that Stan could swim onto his back easier. Ben was the referee, laughing happily as Stan perched himself upon Bill's shoulders like a proud heron, his balance impeccable._

_Beverly waved them over, Mike easily lifting her weight as he shot the boys an easy grin. "Bev's out for blood this time, you four better watch out. She's a firecracker."_

_Ben gave her a dreamy look of pure adoration, smiling shyly up at her. "Yeah, she is... b-but I think everyone is pretty evenly matched! As long as nobody cheats, anyway." He gave Richie a pointed look, who mocked offense with a shocked gasp._

_"Moi? **Cheat?** Benethan, I canno' beLIEVE zeez **rude** accuzeh-shuns~!" Richie scoffed in his best French accent, which honestly just sounded like Richie Tozier with a head injury. _

_Bill smiled, glancing up at Stan. "I th-think we cuh-can take huh-her, don't y-you?" The curly haired boy just winked, seeming perfectly balanced and somehow impeccably clean despite the fact they had been swimming for hours._

_Richie snorted in an exaggerated way, his glasses making a swan dive off his face and into the water as he did so. Eddie made a halfhearted grab for them that caused him to over balance with a shriek, Richie cackling madly as the two boys fell forward into the water with a splash. Eddie poked his head up moments later, gagging madly and spitting water from his mouth. His hair was plastered across his forehead and hung limply in his eyes, sputtering indignantly at the other boy as he shoved his dripping wet glasses into his chest._

_"Richie you fucking turd! Keep your damn glasses on your face next time, maybe!"_

_Richie just grinned as he slipped them back onto his nose, sweeping Eddie up into a rather wet hug and trying to shove him back atop his shoulders even as the shorter boy floundered wildly and threw a pointy elbow into his spine in protest. "Aw, I don't need to worry about glasses when I've got you around to catch 'em for me, Eds!"_

_Eddie huffed irritably as he resigned himself to his fate, crossing his arms determinedly and looking exasperated. "That's not my name! And I didn't catch them, that's the problem, and I got the water in my mouth, it tasted funny, I-I bet there are all kinds of bacteria floating in this quarry, and now I got them in my mouth and I'm gonna get listeria or mono or fucking chemotherapy or something!"_

_Richie reached up to snap the elastic of his boxers to shut him up, earning an embarrassed squeal in response. "Quit bitchin', Spaghetti Head, we've gotta do glorious battle for your honor now."_

_Bev giggled into her palm, glancing over at Ben, Stan, and Bill with a mirthful expression on her face. Mike laughed, too, unable to hold back in the face of Eddie's mini-rant._

_Stan smiled apologetically at Eddie, crossing his ankles over Bill's chest as the three teams approached each other and prepared to play. "I'm pretty sure listeria and chemotherapy aren't diseases, Eddie."_

_Richie tugged at one of the boy's legs pointedly. "Y'hear that, Eds? Whatever's in this water is a whole new breed of illness, they don't know **what** it is! You'll get to be Patient Zero!"_

_"FUCK YOU!"_

Richie came back to the present slowly, glumly, looking down at the boy _'no, he's a man now, an adult man, we all are, and Bev's an adult woman, when the **fuck** did this happen?!'_ in his arms who had still yet to wake up.

Mike fiddled with the keys to the front door, gesturing with his head upstairs once the door swung open. "Why don't you lay him down on the bed and take a nap? I think some rest would do you both some good."

Richie sighed wearily, the stress of the day seeming to hit him all at once. Some rest actually sounded fantastic right about now, anything to keep his mind from racing and contemplating the new danger they were all in. "Sure thing, Micholas. I call dibs on the couch and the fluffy blue blanket, that thing's got my name written all over it."

Beverly was picking at the bandages on her nose irritably. "Mind if I use the bathroom to change these..? I think I'm about due for a fresh set." 

Mike nodded. "There's a first aid kit in the cupboard outside the bathroom, second shelf. Help yourself to anything you need." he called, phone held between his ear and shoulder while he dialed the number for the hospital. "Yes, hello, I'm looking for a Bill Denbrough? Should be in the waiting room on the second floor. Yes, I'll hold..."

Ben blinked and glanced over at Bev as she headed for the bathroom, feeling brave. "Would you like some help, Beverly?" he asked, not wanting to just stand around and do nothing if he could assist her in any way.

Beverly smiled, glancing back at him over her shoulder as she searched through the cabinet for the aforementioned first aid kit. "That would be very sweet of you, Ben, thanks."

Ben felt his face flush red as he took the kit from her hands, his callused thumb brushing slightly against her smooth skin and causing his blush to only darken. Bev couldn't hold back a laugh at his bewildered expression as she stepped into the bathroom, Ben following her with the slightest shake of his head. The door clicked shut behind them.

Richie eyed the stairs dubiously, remembering only two days previously when he had rushed up them so quickly to get to Eddie. He remembered hearing him scream, how scared he had been...

Now, in the wake of everything that was going on, it seemed like such a long time ago. He took the steps two at a time, even with the precious cargo he was carrying, his long legs making such a motion seem ridiculously easy.

Richie nudged open the door to Mike's bedroom with his hip, careful not to bump Eddie into the doorframe while he shimmied past it, the shorter man shifting slightly to tuck his head under the other man's chin as he did so. Richie's heart thundered in his chest at the closeness, the intimacy in such a simple gesture, and for a moment he feared his heartbeat would be loud enough to wake the driver.

Finally, he approached the bed, made up carefully by Ben just that morning. Deciding to lay Eddie down slowly, Richie leaned forward to set him onto the bed. However as he did so, Eddie instinctively raised his arms up around Richie's neck, wiry black locks brushing against his clean white cast as he gripped onto him tightly.

Richie blinked, still bent over. He wiggled a little bit, trying to slip away from Eddie's grip, but despite his short stature, he was deceptively strong. 

"C'mon, Eds, let go..." he murmured lightly, bent awkwardly over him as Richie reached up to slowly untangle his hands from around his neck. "Damn it, there's no way you're still asleep..." he grumbled as he still had no luck breaking free of Eddie's death grip. 

He released a sigh of acceptance, then, too tired to bother with getting away and unwilling to wake Eddie up to make him let go. "Alright, scoot your miserable butt over, I'm comin' in." Although he got no reply, Richie carefully shifted Eddie closer to the middle of the bed, flopping somewhat gracelessly beside him and cringing as he awaited the explosion of Eddie waking up and shoving him away in disgust; however, it never came.

Eddie slept on, arms curled around Richie's neck, his face half buried in the pillow. Richie shifted slightly to get comfortable, biting his lip as the springs of the bed groaned and squeaked in protest. However at the moment it seemed like a hoard of rampaging elephants couldn't wake Eddie up. From as close as he was, Richie could make out every freckle dusted along the bridge of his nose and cheeks. He could see the individual eyelashes as they fluttered once against his cheeks, and Richie's eyes mapped out each feature of Eddie's face all the way down to his pink pursed lips, parted slightly as he breathed steadily in and out in a slow, even rhythm. 

It was honestly rather relaxing. Mike's bedroom had a quaint, homey feel to it. The walls were painted a pale forest green with white trimming, and the dresser seemed to be an antique of some sort that was likely made by a family member, carved of white oak and stained with a cherry red finish. The closet was half opened, revealing a multitude of simple clothing, some of which seemed to be work clothes from an age long past, when Mike used to work the fields with his grandfather and his parents. 

There was an old bookshelf in the corner of the room next to a sunfaded blue armchair, the arms worn from use. One of the titles Richie could spy from his spot trapped next to Eddie was Bill's own _'The Glowing',_ next to another book he had written called _'Roadbugs'._ Above those two was a magazine advertising Beverly By Hand as the hottest name in women's fashion. A framed photograph of a beautiful building that almost looked like the Derry Public Library turned sideways was being used as a bookend, next to an old stack of tax documents prepared by Mr. Uris, CPA, and a VHS recording labeled 'Richie's 1st Live Show'. He had no way of knowing, but paperclipped amongst the tax documents was a small business card for Kaspbrak's Chauffeuring and Limousines. The little hints that Mike had been watching out for them over the many years long passed were a welcome comfort after the horrific events today had brought.

Since nothing seemed able to wake Eddie right now, Richie slowly reached into his pocket to tug out the photo of himself and Alex. He sighed wearily, glancing over at Eddie's sleeping form and mentally comparing the two men's close resemblance. 

"I...I didn't even think about it." He whispered softly to the silent bedroom. "The way that he looks. I didn't, really. I barely knew your name at the time, let alone remembered you as anything other than a mousy little kid with an inhaler glued to his hand and a fanny pack the size of the state of Texas." He didn't know why he was saying these things now, when Eddie wasn't awake to hear them, but it was like now that he started, his infamous trashmouth was bound and determined to keep going.

"Alex was a great boyfriend. Sweet and polite and always quick to do anything I asked without a word of complaint. He said I was the funniest man he'd ever met, and always laughed at my Voices, and was super supportive. He never even bitched about my busy tour schedules or how hard it was to plan any dates when I could be in any major city across America on any given night with almost no warning." Richie kept speaking as Eddie slept on, very still and so unaware.

"He was perfect," Richie breathed with a small little quirk of his lips. "But he wasn't _you._ I didn't even know that was what I was looking for until I saw your face in the Chinese restaurant."

"We didn't even last more than four months. I broke it off. I didn't know what the hell I wanted out of a relationship. Now that I'm here, with you, Eds...fuck, I guess I wanted him to be more like you. I wanted him to bitch that my jokes aren't funny and tell me that my Voices all sound the same. I wanted him to complain when I skipped showers or act disgusted when I wear Hawaiian shirts with striped pants. I wanted him to get irritated when I called him dumb nicknames and to be somebody that I could trust to keep my heart safe and unbroken. I...I wanted him to be you. And he just... _wasn't._ So I broke it off." Richie's mouth fell shut abruptly, glancing over to Eddie with something akin to wonder in his eyes. He bit his lip and glanced down at the photo in his hands somewhat miserably.

"Lately...I've found myself thinking about...us. What might have happened if your mom never dragged you away from Derry. What would have happened if we...y'know. Gave us a try. If we would have even had a chance, or if we would have just ended up another sad little small town romance that crumbles once you graduate and real life kicks in. I think about that a lot, anymore." Richie sighed wistfully, a sense of melancholy washing over him. Sure, the Loser's Club had done a great thing for Derry, for all the children that came before them and all who were yet to come; the clown had been slain and no more missing posters would litter the brick walls of their town ever again. 

And all it had cost them was a thousand and one missed opportunities.

A thousand and one unplanned first dates, a thousand and one long movie nights with all seven of them happy and content in each other's company, distant backroad parties with blaring music from secondhand truck speakers after midnight, where the only thing that mattered was sneaking back home at the end of the evening without their parents noticing and hiding their hangover at school the next morning, where the worst thing a clown could ever do to them was tell an unfunny joke.

Well, this was the most unfunny joke of them all.

"We all missed out on _so much."_ Richie breathed, a short exhale that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "We gave everything we had, and it still might not be enough. You gave...your life, _twice._ In both senses of the word. The part that matters, the part that you're supposed to look back on when you're eighty five and smile and reminisce back to the good old days. You never had that. And then your life _ended,_ in that fucking cold, dark, disgusting sewer. Just like that." Richie pressed his palm into his eye to stifle stubborn tears, breathing in heavily and trying to put the horrible image of Eddie's death out of his mind. Seeing him lying there on the dirty ground, choking out his last words around his own blood while his heart pumped frantically as if that would save him. Watching the boy he had adored for most of his childhood grow into a man in the blink of an eye, only to be thrown into Death's jaws the instant Richie had finally gotten him back. It had been undone, somehow, they had both been given a second chance, and he didn't want to waste it. Not this time.

"And I didn't even get to tell you that- I never... hell, even upon your literal deathbed you had more guts than me. I...I know what you were trying to say, back in the sewer, before...before you died." Richie swallowed the lump in his throat, curling closer to Eddie and brushing a few locks of brown hair out of his face, giving him a watery smile. "'Richie, for the last time, don't call me 'Eds'. You know that I...love you.' I don't believe even you would bitch about that nickname as your last words. Not when we finally found each other again, after all this time. I _know_ that was what you were trying to say. I...I know you were scared, and didn't have the strength to get the words out. I-I know that, Eds... and I love you, _too,_ you beautiful, stubborn, angry little pipsqueak, with more psychosomatic medical issues than the average pharmaceutical catalogue. I fucking _love you."_

The only noise he was given in response to his heartfelt confession was the steady sound of Eddie's continued breathing, slow and rhythmic in the small bedroom.

With a weary sigh, suddenly exhausted from getting his feelings off his chest to an audience of none, Richie carefully tugged his glasses off his face and reached daringly across Eddie's form to set them on the nightstand. However, he misjudged the distance due to a combination of an unfamiliar location and the lack of his vision. His glasses slipped from between his fingers and would have fallen if not for Eddie's hand rapidly darting from around his neck to catch them, alert brown eyes looking up at him in a tentative sort of triumph, a small flush across his cheeks.

"Keep your damn glasses on your face next time, maybe..." he breathed, his gaze flicking from Richie's dark brown eyes to his lips, seeming to realize all at once how close the two were to each other. The comedian blinked once, biting his lip and giving an easy sort of relaxed grin as he realized Eddie must have awoken at some point during his speech, Richie's response to him as practiced and well timed as it had been twenty seven years ago.

"Aw...I don't need to worry about my glasses when I've got you around to catch 'em for me, Eds." His heart rate quickened as he too seemed to notice that the gap between them was shortening at a rapid pace. He swallowed once, thickly, surprised by how nervous he felt all of a sudden.

"Don't call me 'Eds.'" Eddie breathed softly against Richie's lips, before he closed the gap between them and then suddenly they were kissing. 

Richie's eyes fell closed, feeling the arm still encircling his neck as Eddie's fingers gently wove themselves into his hair, being careful to avoid the bandages still present. The chauffeur kissed the same way that he drove; instinctively, like he had always known how to do it. Richie's hands gently shifted from his sides to cup Eddie's face between his palms, fingertips brushing gently over smooth skin and soft brown hair as if he couldn't even believe he was real. His thumb brushed softly against the side of Eddie's mouth as he leaned closer, pressing their chests together. Their legs tangled loosely around each other as Richie shifted to lean over Eddie, his hand drifting down to clench tightly around a fistful of the bedspread as he returned the kiss with as much fervor as he could, determined to show Eddie just how true his words from earlier were.

Eddie moaned softly against his lips, his arms easily shifting down from around Richie's neck to cradle around his shoulders, one thumb rubbing a gentle circle just above his collarbone as Richie deepened the kiss. He could feel the heat drifting to Eddie's face from their close proximity, but Richie didn't want to miss any of this for the world. He blinked open heavy eyelids to gaze down at the man beneath him, slowly breaking the kiss with one last flick of his tongue against devilishly soft lips. He leaned back slowly, settling back against his heels to perch at Eddie's side, unsure of how he would react now to being touched so intimately by a man.

Eddie looked up at him tentatively, biting his lip as his ever present blush returned in full force. His brown eyes flicked to the side as if in embarrassment, before he spoke, tone hesitant and unsure. He ran a hand shakily through his brown locks, mussing them up further. "W-Was that...okay? I...I wasn't sure what to do with my hands and you're just really way too tall and you don't feel like a girl but that's not really a bad thing either and I just don't want to weird you out but now I'm babbling and it's just getting more and more awkward oh God I need to-"

Richie cut him off with a long finger pressed to his lips. "Eds, m'dear?" 

Eddie reached up to move his hand, but instead of shoving it away, he slowly interlaced their fingers and gave the larger hand a small squeeze. "Don't call me Eds. What is it?"

"Shut up. That's what you need to do right now." Richie said with a teasing grin, the warmth around his hand making his heart leap in his chest as he realized that _Eddie had just kissed him._

"Piss _off,_ Richie, I'm trying to work through some things, here!" Eddie complained, flopping his head back against the pillow with a weary sigh.

"Do it later, it's cuddle time now. The sleep train's pulling into the station, choo choo!" Richie grinned, flopping down beside him with enough force to make the headboard slam into the wall and the springs to squeal in protest and dragging the blanket over the two of them. He dropped the rest of it over Eddie's head with an exaggerated flourish, grinning as the younger man whipped it off again with a muffled curse.

"Let me _breathe,_ you idiot!"

"I would if I could, Spaghetti Head. I always knew that I took your breath away."

"Get fucked."

"If I'm lucky~"

"Oh my God, shut _up!"_

Richie laughed, then, a true and honest laugh that made his ribs hurt and his cheeks ache from smiling too much. It was the first real laugh he had experienced in awhile. Slowly, cautiously and to give Eddie plenty of time to protest, he reached out to lay his arm across Eddie's waist and shift himself daringly a bit closer. His eyes went wide as Eddie leaned back to stare at him, raising his hand immediately. "I-Is this...okay?"

To his endless surprise, Eddie just smiled softly and curled into him, letting his head fall back against the pillow with a sigh. He gave the taller man's hand another brief squeeze.

"Yeah, Richie. This is okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Stan keeps Audra and Georgie occupied while Bill is on the phone with Mike.


	60. Braided Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan takes his responsibility of guarding Audra and Georgie very seriously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, just wanted to thank you all for the huge response on the last chapter, and now we've hit 1300 kudos! That's incredible! You guys are awesome!! :) I just wanted to apologize for the short hiatus, I hit a bit of a snag in how to next proceed with the story. There are several scenes that bounce around what is supposed to be happening where and I don't want to accidentally write someone into the wrong scene at a given moment from rushing, so apologies for that and hope you enjoy a little peek of some Staudra.

_"Y-You're a lifesuh-saver, Stan. I'll be r-right buh-back."_

Stan frowned as he nodded slowly, his attention still on the fact that of all the doctors and nurses walking by, not one of them paid any mind to Audra whatsoever. The waiting room was empty, apart from them, so the chance of them simply overlooking her was slim to none. His fingers twitched for a moment as his brown eyes kept flicking around, needing to set something in order to keep himself calm. He bit his lip and leaned over to the plastic posing as mahogany table, sorting the magazines into three stacks by topic. 

That took a startling short amount of time, and left the stack about sports much higher than the others. Stan huffed and set to reorganizing them, this time by thickness. That left them in a much more uniform stack, his fingers sliding them around precisely until each stack was perfectly straight and even, not a single page out of place. However upon sitting back to examine them, he frowned, not even feeling the slightest bit of contentment from the action. Normally giving in to his compulsions to organize things would help to set his mind at ease, but not today, it seemed. He swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat, wondering what it was about a few doctors being busy or distracted that had set his teeth on edge. Surely it was a perfectly normal occurrence, maybe they just didn't realize what a state she was in? Each theory he came up with was less likely than the last, and the waiting room suddenly felt insanely crowded. He couldn't keep his mind off of Eddie and wondered if the others had any luck finding him.

Georgie suddenly spun around, nearly sliding off Audra's lap from the force of his excitement. "Stanny? Do you know how to do up a braid?"

Stan blinked and subtly glanced over at the messy attempt Bill had made earlier, his fingers twitching at how out of place it was. At this point, anything to stop his mind from wandering to dangerous places and kept his fingers busy was a godsend. "....not entirely, but I bet I could figure it out."

Georgie beamed and scurried out of Audra's lap to watch, Stan hesitating as if unsure if she would mind him touching her. "Audra," he began tentatively, "I...I'm going to fix your hair, now, if you don't mind...?"

Audra remained silent, her expression unchanged even as Stan gently helped her shift so that her back was facing him. However, her eyes drifted from the painting on the wall down to her lap, as if watching him carefully out of her peripheral vision.

Stan's fingers carefully reached out to undo the latch on the zip tie, gently pulling the strap out so that her hair could fall free. In absence of a comb, he used his fingertips, making sure not to let them catch on any snarls or tangles and accidentally hurt her. 

"Okay...a braid." he murmured under his breath once he was finished. Audra's smooth auburn locks tumbled down her back like a waterfall on an autumn day, reflecting the colors in the trees back at Stan. He hummed in thought, remembering some of the knots and rope tying techniques they had learned in the Boy Scouts. He knew they had gone over how to do a braid, and even if he couldn't have explained it to someone else, his fingers remembered the pattern as he carefully parted her hair into three different groups.

The part of himself that was obsessed with multiples of three beamed even as Stan meticulously made sure that each section had the exact same amount of hair, to the point where Georgie made a long, exaggerated yawn to get him to hurry up. "I wanna see how pretty you can do it, Stan, stop takin' so long or I'm gonna die of old age!" he whined with a pout, leaning against Stan's shoulder.

Stan shook his head even as he gave the younger boy a smirk. "You can't rush perfection, Georgie." he murmured, finally satisfied with how he had parted it. He took two sections in hand and crossed one over the other, before taking the third and beginning to weave them all together in an elegant and clean looking braid. It cascaded down her back until Stan finally finished, reluctantly reattaching the zip tie in lieu of an actual hair tie. He leaned back to admire his work, giving Georgie a small smile. "See? Easy."

Georgie grinned, gently lifting the braid up and over Audra's shoulder. "That looks way better than what Billy did! Don't tell him I toldja this, but," Georgie cupped his hand over Stan's ear and whispered, "Billy's not the best at doin' hair. One time he was playin' with Mommy's hair and he got the brush stuck."

Stan nodded, expression serious as he vowed to never tell a soul. 

The two of them were too distracted by the memory of Bill's hairbrush debacle for them to notice, but Audra's hand slowly came up to gently brush against the fresh braid, before rejoining its twin in her lap.


	61. The Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike contacts Bill at the hospital to explain what's going on. Bill neglects to tell him he's still hearing the voice in his head and remembers the run in with Neibolt!Eddie all those years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning all! Sorry for the lack of an update, work's been crazy and I really want to make sure these next few chapters come out the way I want them to. Thanks so much for your patience and I hope you enjoy!

Bill slipped over to the information desk just down the hall, giving the nurse an appreciative nod as he accepted the phone from her and raised it to his ear. "Mike? Is e-everything all ruh-right? Duh-Did yuh-you all f-find Eddie? Is h-he oh-okay?" His questions bubbled up as if by magic, too many inquiries and not a lot of time to get them across.

_(hes fine you stuttering freak great even he just wanted to see how his insides look on the outside)_

Bill swallowed a reply to the voice with no source, gritting his teeth and pressing the phone harder against his ear as if to block it out completely. 

Mike sighed over the phone, sounding weary and tired. "It's bad, Bill. Things, things have been... happening, again. Impossible things." And oh, that was the last thing Bill ever wanted to hear someone say to him over the phone.

Bill felt his heart plummet into his chest, heaving in a short breath as a cold sort of chill wracked through him, a sense of unimaginable dread. It was like he had known, known it all along, deep in the back of his mind, back where he shoved every nightmare he didn't want to think about once the morning came. "Wh-what...? Muh-Mike, th-that...It cuh-can't be-!" His tone must have expressed his distress, for Mike's next reply was measured and direct.

A deep sigh came through the phone, a reminder to Bill that they were all tired and none of them were at their best to deal with this new threat right now. "It, or something with similar powers, is awake and alive in Derry. We know almost nothing about It except that this voice can talk inside both your head and Richie's, but hasn't tried it with any of the others yet. It possessed Richie and somehow Georgie had the ability to make It go away. Then, when we went to look for Eddie, we found him half a mile outside Derry...and he was..." Mike's voice trailed off, uncertain and vaguely hesitant.

Bill swallowed thickly, glancing back towards the waiting room as if wanting to reassure himself that Stan, Audra, and Georgie were safe. "Tuh-Tell m-me...it w-was bad, wuh-wasn't it?" He dreaded even considering what state his absent group of friends were in. "W-Was anyone huh-hurt?" He demanded, hand clutching the phone tightly. He didn't want to know but knew he needed to be informed in equal measure. Sometimes being the leader was a fate he wished had been thrust upon someone else, someone like Mike, who had many of the same leadership qualities as himself if not more. He had been mentally preparing himself all these long years to fight It once again while the rest of the Losers had been sipping wine and partying in their own blissfully ignorant state. Somehow whatever force had chosen them back all those years ago had also decided he was to lead, and so lead he would. "I-I nuh-need to know, Muh-Mike."

"Tom Rogan is dead, and Myra is missing...We...we found Eddie, and he was... corpselike."

Bill gasped, stifling it with a small flick of his palm over his lips, glancing around as if feeling like someone was watching him. "Wuh-Was it a truh-trick?" he breathed, unsure of whether he would prefer for it to be a trick and thus, Eddie to be perfectly healthy, or to have it be real and Pennywise have not somehow cheated death for an unbelievable third time. 

"Actually....it was like he was degrading, like whatever magic brought him back to life didn't work outside Derry. It was like watching the battery die on an old toy, he was so skinny a-and sick... I saw it, with my own eyes, Bill. He was rotting out, he looked like a zombie, black sludge running down his face... Rich said he looked just like the...the illusion you saw inside Neibolt all those years ago." Mike continued to explain, the overabundance of details and the reminder of the monstrous version of Eddie that Bill and Richie had encountered all those years ago made him nearly gag.

Bill's stomach dropped as the memory flashed before his eyes. He didn't even have time to consider the implications of Tom being dead and Myra being missing... Bill remembered sweet, young Eddie's head forcing itself through a rotten mattress, skin grey and decayed, those familiar brown eyes dark and evil. How he had grinned so similarly to how the real Eddie would grin at a particularly good joke, only this one revealing skeletal teeth and rotting gums. Bill knew Eddie was meticulous about brushing his teeth, and despite the situation, his fear swept over him and he almost hysterically wondered if this Eddie remembered to floss after every meal, too. His grey tongue traced over blue dead lips tauntingly, and hearing one of his best friend's innocent voices coming out of a horrible monster like that had given him nightmares for weeks.

_"Wanna play loogie~?_

Bill could remember the terror roiling up his spine, could see it mirrored on a younger Richie's face as he gasped down at Not Eddie with a stricken expression of absolute horror, like every nightmare he ever had experienced had just come true. His brown eyes were scared and wide, flicking to Bill's own in a stunned sort of disbelief. 

_"B-Betty, she...Bill, Betty Ripsom is fucking **dead,** that's why It took her shape so **why the fuck does it look like Eds!?"**_ Richie had shrieked, one hand smacking over his own mouth in a panic as if stopping his traitorous mouth from saying it would somehow make it not true. Bill had gasped in realization, if this thing could only take the shape of the dead, then why was it wearing Eddie's body like a costume? 

Unless...

Richie had dragged him aside, out of the room. _"He's out there somewhere-!"_

Bill had stumbled after him, hearing the floor rotting out behind him as that demonic Eddie laughed, gagging and vomiting up acidic black sludge that washed down his chin and chest in messy stains while he jerked and seized. It was so unnatural looking on his normally clean friend that it was terrifying it its own way, so familiar in some ways and terrifyingly different. 

This creature took what Bill loved and twisted them all around, like Georgie in his basement the night before. He refused to believe that Georgie could be dead, so therefore his faith in his brother being alive told him that Eddie must be alive, too. He clenched Richie's shoulders and ground out past his stutter: _"Th-that's not real. Ruh-remember the muh-missing poster? Th-That wasn't real, so th-this isn't real!"_

Bill shook his head once to clear it, having been momentarily swept up in the horrible memories of the Neibolt version of Eddie. "G-God, Mike, huh-how did Richie t-take it?" He gripped the phone tightly, glancing up as if expecting to see the nurses around him listening in, however, the station was deserted. It was just him and the phone and the news Bill desperately didn't want to know.

Mike sighed heavily over the other end of the phone, not seeming surprised by Bill's long silence while his still fragmented memories of that summer swam back to him gradually. "Not well. He held Eddie in his lap the whole way back and barely was able to stop himself from touching him to make sure he was okay. As soon as we crossed back into Derry, he started to heal... Myra's...well, I think... I think whatever is after us right now, may have gotten her. We found Eddie standing in the road, barely even alive, with Tom Rogan's dead hand cuffed to Eddie's wrist and Myra's high heel in the street a few feet back from there. The Lincoln's in the ditch, not in terrible shape but it'll need a tow back here, not to mention Richie's convertible is still impounded at the evidence yard. He's gonna be pissed once he gets past this and realize they took his baby."

Bill pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers shakily, almost unable to believe this could seriously be happening to them again. "How? Mike, huh-how..?" He didn't want to think about Eddie's sudden inability to leave Derry, was terrified to think that perhaps they had been given back only to be forever cursed to never leave the town, to stay there until they died again for real. Horrible thoughts pounded against the inside of his head, images of Stan's terror when he found out he was trapped here; Georgie sobbing because he wanted to go home, to a place that had stopped being a home a mere three days after the clown had ripped the boy's arm off twenty seven years earlier. He pictured Eddie, standing at the base of the steps to the Neibolt house, his arm gone again, his face dark and sad and _dead._

_(your fault buh buh buh big bill maybe next time dont send little wheezy girly boys in to do all the hard work for you)_

Mike seemed to understand his distress, his tone low and comforting. "I don't know, Bill, none of us knows how this could be, but...I don't feel like it's safe for any of us to be out and about in Derry right now. I don't even think Audra will be safe in the hospital, not after everything we saw today." Mike swallowed thickly, a hesitant question resting unspoken on his lips. 

Bill bit his lip. "I...I don't even w-want to ask, Mike, th-the house is suh-so full, already..."

"She wouldn't be a bother at all, Bill. I'd rather deal with a bit of overcrowding than know that something happened to her." Mike said softly, drumming his fingertips along the phone. "I think I'll see if there's a spare bed for cheap down at the old pawnshop. I bet we could scoot some thing around, make enough room for at least a few of us to have a good night's sleep."

Bill sighed heavily, mind already racing with plans. "Y-Yeah, Mike, okay. I-I'll talk to huh-her doctor ab-about ch-checking her out tuh-today." He didn't even know where to begin with explaining all of this to Stan. Bill swallowed a lump in his throat as he pictured telling him that he was essentially trapped here for the known future, and also the demon clown that Stan hadn't had the ability to face more than once was now possibly back for an unbelievable third time? How was he supposed to find the words?

"We'll fill you all in on the details once you get back, alright? Try to just keep Stan and Georgie calm, and I'll call you all a taxi. Twenty minutes should be enough time, don't you think?"

Bill nodded slowly, feeling less stressed out now that he had the solid foundation of a plan to stand on. "Yes, thuh-that should be f-fine. I'll go tuh-talk to Audra's duh-doctor right nuh-now."

"Good luck, Bill. We'll see you in a little bit. Be careful." Mike bade him goodbye, before Bill hung up the phone, trembling fingers having to adjust it twice before it sat back on the receiver correctly. 

"Jesus." He whispered to the empty room, unsure if it was a plea or a cry, burying his head in his hands. "...Jesus."


	62. Hospitals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan is increasingly reminded of why he hates hospitals. Especially hospitals in Derry, Maine. Bill is grateful to Stan for taking such good care of Audra in his absence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning lovelies! Hope you all enjoy this chapter, just a few more of expository/explanations crossed with a little rest before the real shit should pick up, hopefully you'll all enjoy. ;) Also the next audio recording of the Author Reads is finished, you can listen to it here: https://clyp.it/tsluqoog

Stan fidgeted to himself, glancing up anytime anyone so much as entered the room. He felt on edge, and despite having done Audra's hair into a long and pretty braid, his fingers longed to tug it out and redo it 'better'.

He drummed his fingers on his lap as a doctor walked through the waiting room, the only one seeming to notice Audra at once. The man narrowed his eyes behind his horn rimmed glasses, curly salt and pepper hair coiled like springs wound much too tight. He approached them with a stern expression on his face. 

"Miss Denbrough? You're out of your room. Let me escort you back..." he said insistently, grasping her by the elbow and gently raising her to her feet. The fine hairs on the back of Stan's neck bristled in an instant, and he frowned, hackles raised.

"It's 'Mrs.' Denbrough. And you're not Audra's doctor." He stated, a firm, undeniable truth that planted his feet firmly in a foundation of logic and facts. The doctor looked surprised for a second before looking incensed. His teeth were large and square; talking up the bulk of his mouth and appearing just a bit oversized for his face.

"I am not her assigned physician, but patients in her condition are not allowed out of their rooms at any time unless accompanied by a nurse or an aid." The doctor insisted, nose turned up somewhat haughtily. Audra stared past him somewhat dazedly, while Stan's eyes narrowed. He reached his arms out to gently move Audra back into her seat, smoothing down a bit of her hair that had gotten rumpled during the shifting movement. She leaned ever so slightly into his touch, her blue eyes still very lost and distant.

"She's absolutely calm and I'm monitoring her while her husband is away on business, she'll be fine uninterrupted in the waiting room for a little bit." Stan said firmly, arms crossed as the doctor's face twisted into one of anger, clearly unused to being openly defied.

"Mister Uris, this is most unusual, I must insist she comes with me." His large hand wrapped around her thin wrist and tugged her to her feet sharply. Audra gasped, a low quiet noise of surprise and shock, while Stan's hackles only continued to raise at the disrespect this man displayed for the mentally unwell. The doctor had a horrible voice, grating and loud like nails on a chalkboard. He seemed to increase his volume and tone as a way to enforce his own power, to inflict it on others, but Stan was absolutely not having it.

"And I must insist you _take your hands off of her_ or I think you'll come to find you regret not doing so later." Stan's voice was ice cold as he wrapped his hand firmly around the doctor's wrist, clenching just hard enough that the man had to struggle to move his wrist. 

"Let go of me-!" He insisted loudly, tugging at his wrist halfheartedly while Stan glanced meaningfully at the man's grip on Audra.

"Let go of her. She's not able to physically defend herself right now, but I think you'll find I'm more than capable of handling the problem. Now _let...go."_ The absolute lack of fear from Stan was probably what alarmed the doctor the most, as he released Audra and took a step back, looking rather rumpled in appearance. 

"Mister Uris, you really should-"

Stan took a small step back, eyes narrowing as he rested his hands on Audra's waist to place himself in between her and the mysterious doctor. "I don't recall introducing myself to you." He said softly, eyes glancing up accusingly. The doctor sneered and took a step forward, only for both of them to be distracted by Bill rushing into the room. Stan turned towards him out of instinct, eyes widening in alarm as he took in his disheveled appearance. His hand squeezed around Audra's for a moment as he took his attention off the doctor to verify that she was okay.

"Stan? I-It's bad. Wuh-we have to tuh-take Audra and guh-go to M-Mike's house."

Stan's eyes widened as he turned back to the doctor, only to find him have mysteriously vanished as if into thin air. He blinked in surprise, glancing over to Bill in disbelief. "Did...did you see that doctor leave, just now?"

Bill approached them, Georgie giving a gleeful giggle as he leapt to his feet and flung his arms around Bill's knees and squeezed him tightly. "Missed you, Billy." he mumbled softly into his legs with a small smile, clearly worn out from a very long day of waiting around in hospitals and shopping for necessities. 

Bill patted his back with a fond expression, his fingers gently tousling honey colored hair as he ruffled Georgie's hair. "Missed yuh-you too, Juh-Georgie." he said with a nod, glancing up at Stan with a small frown. "What's wr-wrong, Stan? Y-you look ruh-really pale, it's not a guh-good look-" Bill's cheeks went pink for a second as he flushed and rubbed the back of his hair for a moment, deep auburn locks flopping over his ocean blue eyes. "Nuh-not that you d-don't look good, because you _always_ look good, I-I just...oh f-fuck, I sh-should shuh-shut up now." His blush intensified as his stutter worsened, and Stan had to take a moment to just take it all in.

Stan swallowed thickly at the sight, biting his lip and turning his attention back to the vanishing doctor. Now wasn't the time to ogle at Bill, especially not after the very weird experience they had just had. "There...there was this doctor, he was... he tried to take Audra back to her room, he was so _rude,_ I sort of...lost my temper. But, Bill, he knew my name, he knew her name, but I've never seen him before, I don't-" he cut himself off with a short exhale, a learned technique to avoid a panic attack. 

He focused heavily on his breathing for a moment and needed a second to realize Bill hand his hands on his shoulders. Stan was momentarily startled by the intense warmth radiating downwards from those large palms, his hand releasing Audra's as he gently moved Bill's hands down to hold them in his own. "I-I don't know how that could be, though. It was impossible, not after Pennywise was killed-!" His thoughts began to quicken as if unbidden, racing through his mind before they even had the chance to fully form, his breaths quickening as a result. "Bill? Bill, you said...we have to take Audra to Mike's place? Why? What's going on?"

He took once glance at their intertwined fingers, cool porcelain colored pale skin and long fingers, gently mixed in with tanned and shorter fingers, the kind that were used to prodding the keys of a typewriter long hours after midnight. They were so different from both Audra's own smaller fingers and Bill's, worn from shuffling through heavy reams of standard printing paper and from rubbing against thick sheets of watercolor notebooks. However they all fit together rather nicely.

Bill looked apologetic as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes hesitant as he gently placed his hand on the small of Audra's back to lead her in the direction of the nurse's station. "Luh-Let's get Audra ch-checked out of huh-her room, then...th-then we cuh-can figure out wh-what's going on." His stutter didn't make his words make less sense at all, and despite the broken, off center rhythm they had when dropped from between Bill's unsteady lips, Stan found himself comforted by a plan. Bill always had a plan. Bill was their leader, Bill always knew what to do. It was a heavy burden to place on the other man, but he had always risen to the challenge in the past.

"Okay." Stan breathed, gently reaching down to take Georgie's hand as he led the little boy behind Bill and Audra towards the front desk. The woman behind the counter cleared her throat, smiling at them and exposing pearly white teeth glowing behind matte deep red lipstick.

"How can I help you today?"

Audra stood there rather dazedly, Stan reaching up to gently steady her by her shoulder as she wobbled dangerously in one direction. She wasn't used to standing on her own power for long periods of time, yet. Georgie reached up to take Audra's hand, seeming content to be making physical contact with both Audra and Stan at the same time.

Bill smiled apologetically at the woman, hoping his stutter would cooperate enough to make himself clear without making a fool of himself in the process. He practiced the short 'tongue exercise' his speech therapist had recommended many years before, to mentally form the words and practice shaping them with his tongue before he even spoke. That way, he was less likely to flub them for real.

"Yes, I'm sorry, I'm Bill Denbrough, Audra's husband? I need to go about releasing Audra Denbrough. We're removing her from the hospital. We just don't feel there's anything more your staff can do for her at this point." Bill blinked in surprise as his words flowed off his tongue as if he never even had a stutter, just like before he had even remembered Derry. As an author married to a successful actress living in England; Bill had never once had an issue speaking without a stutter. Only once he had returned to Derry did his stutter return with him.

The woman didn't seem to notice the way that both Bill and Stan looked shocked at his words, instead offering Audra a simpering smile. "I understand, Mister Denbrough. Let's see..." She clicked her tongue while she typed a few words into her computer, Stan cringing slightly at the annoying noise. "What room number were you in, Mrs. Denbrough?" She asked around her bubble gum, glancing over the desk to peer at Audra expectantly.

Audra stared pointedly at a lamp next to her, unconcerned with being addressed by someone that she didn't know.

Bill interrupted to remove any stress from Audra that he could, expression apologetic. "She's...mentally absent, at the moment. Suh-sorry." He stuttered out the last word, fumbling his untarnished speech in alarm before Stan squeezed his hand tightly in warning.

The woman at the desk didn't seem to notice this exchange either, unconcernedly typing in more information. "I'm afraid I have no record of an Audra Denbrough staying here." She announced after a moment, long fingernails clicking against the keys loudly as she exited out of a window to open up another. "Do you have the room number?" 

Stan glanced from Bill to Georgie to Audra before speaking up, remembering clearly the number emblazoned on the plaque upstairs. "It was room 207." He stated confidently, his memory as impeccable as the rest of him was.

The receptionist blinked at him curiously before giving a small, embarrassed laugh. "I'm sorry, I thought you said room _207."_

Stan started once in surprise, glancing over at Bill for reassurance. "I...I did." He said, momentarily alarmed. "What, why is that weird?" Her face was unimpressed, even as she popped her bubblegum once.

"Sir, I'm afraid you must be mistaken." she said softly, typing again. "Did you mean 307? Or 107?" 

Stan bristled at her vaguely condescending tone. "No, I'm quite sure, ma'am. It was room 207."

Bill rested his hand on Stan's forearm reassuringly, his thumb gently brushing over long faded scars that had been fresh only a week and a day previously. Stan felt a shiver race down his spine and he determinedly stood tall anyways. 

The woman awkwardly tapped a few more keys before turning to them again. "Sir, I'm afraid room 207 doesn't exist any longer. It was torn down to extend room 206 into a double ward almost thirty years ago, now."

And didn't that make the ice rush straight into the pit of Bill and Stan's stomachs?

Stan drew in a thin breath, mentally reciting his creed over and over again until his breathing settled back down again. _'Two isn't enough, two isn't enough...'_

Georgie tugged on the sleeve of Bill's shirt, biting his lip. He seemed partially unaware what the cause was of the current terror expressed on Bill and Stan's faces, but he knew he wanted to leave. "Billy, can we go back to Mikey's house now? I'm sick of the hospital now. Audra is, too." He said confidently, tugging on her hand as he said her name. She didn't respond beyond a slow blink, but Bill didn't doubt Georgie's intuition even a little bit.

"Y-Yeah, you're ruh-right, Georgie. Cuh-Come on, Stan, help me guh-get her outside? The tuh-taxi should b-be here any muh-minute now."

Stan shivered as another chill ran down his spine, shrugging off his borrowed jacket to slip it over Audra's shoulders. "She's got no shoes, Bill-" he began, but before he could finish his train of thought, Bill had swept Audra up into his arms. She remained stiff and unmoving, so Stan helped reposition her arms around Bill's strong shoulders. The three of them walked out to the awaiting taxi while Georgie beamed and marveled up at his big brother.

"Wow, Billy, you're super strong! Isn't Audra heavy, though? Are ya gonna drop her?" He asked curiously, even as Stan gently led him to the far side of the taxi and helped buckle him in.

"Never." Bill swore, lowering her into the middle seat, before sliding in next to Audra and gently shifting her braid back so it wouldn't become entangled in her seatbelt. Bill gave the hairstyle an appreciative and admiring glance, a wordless question on his lips that the other man determinedly ignored with a soft smile on his lips.

Stan took the front seat and inwardly was grateful that he got to be a part of Bill's small cobbled together family, if only temporarily. 

He was enjoying every minute, despite the strangeness unfolding around him. And that was possibly the strangest thing of all.


	63. Dela (I Burn For You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Beverly discuss everything that's happened between them while in the bathroom. Benverly finally ensues!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I highly recommend listening to the song Dela by Johnny Clegg and Savuka, it really sets the mood of the chapter. Thanks guys! ;) )

While Richie and Eddie were snuggling upstairs, oblivious to the rest of the Losers, Bev led Ben into the bathroom by her fingertips. 

Mint green gel nail polish, chipped at the tip of her thumb and replaced with a not exactly the same color shade of teal to hide her real nail, glistened at him in the light. As soon as the door closed behind him, she bit her lip and rocked on her heels, hands behind her back. "I need to ask you something, Ben. And I need to you be honest with me."

The architect froze, hands up as if feeling ambushed by this current line of inquiry. "Wh-What is it, Bev?" He asked softly, confusion evident in his hazel eyes. Her earlier statement made him think she had just wanted help changing her bandages, not to question him for something. Beverly sighed heavily and threw herself down on the toilet seat, having put the lid down beforehand.

"Why...with Tom. When you, and Stan and Mike got to the alley...he was there. You could have hurt him, easily, to make up for the things he's done. It..it wouldn't have been smart, but you could have hit him or something. Why didn't you..?" Her eyes didn't meet his as she spoke, having evidently been taught through Tom's beatings that meeting any man's eyes was a sign of disrespect. She curled in on herself somewhat, trying to focus on the differences between Ben and Tom; of which there were many. Her scattered thoughts just were having issues pinpointing them right now, and she could use some outside assistance. 

Ben blinked in confusion, remembering the scene of the accident that had occurred just that afternoon. "Because...well, he was certainly detained, that's for sure. It wouldn't have helped your condition at all for me to have hit him, would it..?"

Bev gave a slow exhale, one that shook lightly from her emotions coming through. "No, no, it wouldn't have helped..."

Ben shrugged somewhat easily, his fingers drumming along the wood of the medicine cabinet. "There's your answer. Now, he was a completely despicable and evil person. Not just because of how he treated you, but what he did to Richie, what he _would have done_ to Eddie if he had gotten the chance. Hitting him wouldn't have solved anything, though. That's how men like _him_ solve their problems. I prefer using my words." Ben swallowed, his mouth feeling a bit dry as he began to search through Mike's cabinet for the aforementioned first aid kit.

Beverly seemed content with his response, a sort of nonplussed and simultaneously pleased sort of expression on her face. Evidently she was satisfied with his answer.

His hands found the kit Mike was searching for, but frowned, noticing it was stacked unsteadily atop a second box of a similar size. Ben passed Bev the first box and reached for the second, noticing a fine layer of dust coating the wood along the bottom of the shelf. When he moved the box, a dark outline of where it had sat was visible, the box clearly having been left mostly undisturbed for the past decade or two.

"What is that...?" Beverly asked, curiosity afire within her as she reached past him to tug it into the light.

Both of them gave a small muffled gasp as they spotted the words written on the faded plastic, having gone from pure white to a creamy celery yellow.

 _Eddie Kaspbrak_ lay printed neatly on the front in a meticulously penciled out font. They could remember Stan delicately tracing out the letters from a book on calligraphy that Ben had found. Beverly pinched the paint pens from her father's toolbox at work, and Bill had been the one to painstakingly fill in each letter with a hand nowhere near as unsteady as his tongue. Mike had given them one of his family's barns to use, to keep the smell of paint from giving away the gift idea for Eddie's fourteenth birthday, shortly after the end of the summer of It.

The Losers had put together a personalized first aid kit, one that contained no medical supplies at all, but had little messages and surprises from each of the Losers; to keep Eddie's spirits up when his mother tried to keep his friends away.

Beverly undid the latches with trembling fingers, surprised to see it again. She remembered Richie being thrilled with Eddie's response to the gift _(he had been the one elected unanimously to give the gift to Eddie before the party, after nearly killing himself escaping the Bower's Gang to get there)_ but neither she nor Ben ever expected to see it again. They thought it was lost to time.

Ben reached past Beverly to pick up a worn and faded book from inside, several yellowed scraps of notebook paper written in varying colors falling past his extended hand to flutter weakly to the floor. He started and crouched down to pick them up, while Beverly unthinkingly did the same thing. Their fingers brushed over each other, Ben's larger hand dwarfing Bev's thinner one. 

Her fingertips were a rosy pink, from the amount of times she stabbed herself with a needle as a young woman while sewing her own fashion. 

She had been angry that a former boyfriend said she dressed promiscuously, just because she picked from what was available to women in her size. As the size increased, so seemed to increase the coverage. Part of Beverly By Hand's forte was making lines of clothing that didn't discriminate availability by size or style. They also had just recently released a new line of clothing that was resistant to pulling, and was unlikely to rip or tear if yanked on by someone. It was mainly available in skintight leggings or pants for right now, but many women had recommended it for athletic women who liked to jog at night and wanted a little extra safety. It made Bev feel good to think that her clothes might be like a sort of armor. Maybe that was just a pipe dream, but it was certainly a pleasant thought nonetheless.

Ben cleared his throat and pulled his hand back, brushing his fingers against the note to inspect it closer. The paper was simple wide ruled, yellowed with age. Whatever sort of ink in the marker used to write it had bled slightly, as thought it had been once damp, but had dried with time.

 _SPaGhEtTi mAN!! HaPPY fuckiN birtHday, dUDE! I mAde you a Bomb aSS mixTapE, it 's loADed to the tiTties wiTh the bEst Songs eVer. StUff that wE ALL lisTEn tO so yoU donT fEEl alONe eveN whEN we 'Re noT THere!!! ;)_

_-ROck oN, EdS!!!!!!! -RICHIE_

Ben's eyes widened as he shot a nervous glance up at Bev. "This was... the note Richie wrote for Eddie..? We all wrote one; I gave him a medical textbook. I found it at the library's annual booksale for fifty cents. That was back when Eddie was determined to become a doctor..." he trailed off somewhat sadly, realizing that somewhere along the line, possibly from time spent in a conversion camp, had apparently ripped that desire away from him. 

At least he had somewhat found happiness as a driver; he liked to help people and also show off his insanely good sense of direction and timing. Eddie always seemed to get people to their destination a little bit faster than most people would have guessed possible. It was a borderline superpower.

Beverly's green eyes glanced up from their curious gaze at the note in his hand, brow furrowed slightly in something caught between remembrance and confusion. 

"Richie...he... that's right, he made a mixtape! It had all kinds of stuff on it, cheesy 80's romance and 70's love ballads. Shit like 'Eddie, My Love', just to be a turd. I forgot about that... he bitched about me wanting the purple marker because 'nah, gimme purple, Bevvie, take the red marker. It matches your hair, cherry red. Remember, your hair is winter fiiii--oh. _Oh."_

She bit her lip as if just now realizing it was Ben she was with, eyes flicking up in a startled wordless apology. Beverly didn't mean to make it seem like she was mocking it; on the contrary, she genuinely liked the poem.

She had been flattered, even after she realized that it wasn't Bill who had written it. The small phrase had become her mantra when things grew tough at home; when too many nights ended with harsh words and angry voices, storming out into the night to jog three blocks north and one block west to spend the night camped out inside in Richie's dad's truck.

Beverly was too stubborn to actually go inside Richie's house; she knew how badly he despised talking about his parents, let alone being seen with them in front of the Losers. He never usually let anyone come over if Wentworth or Maggie were home. Maggie was often drunk or hungover, sleeping in her permanent residence of the living room couch with a vodka bottle dangling limply from numb fingertips. Wentworth didn't always even come home, some nights. He just preferred to hit the bar on the way home, if he made it home at all. Bev would curl up on the seat that smelt like cigarettes and old booze and doze off, curled under a blanket that hadn't been washed in at least a month. But it was warm (mostly) and she was safe (sort of) so it was still better than being home with Alvin Marsh. 

In the years that followed, when she left Derry behind, sometimes she woke up with that scent in her nose, brow furrowed and trying desperately to remember why the smell was synonymous with 'safety' to her. Usually she would forget about it the instant her head hit the pillow again, soothed by dreams she wouldn't remember of distant friends and memories she wasn't totally sure were even real.

Richie sometimes felt so ignored by his parents that in the evenings, he would stomp off to any public building that was unlocked most of the time, usually the library or the laundromat. One time Ben saw him hustling in the bushes by the library, coming up with four discarded Pepsi cans that had been tossed there at some point that month. 

Ben had been confused and also intrigued, tucking the story he had chosen to check out from the library last week under his arm and following Richie down the street. He had been fitching pop cans out of the gutters and along the ditches as they went, coming up with two more grimy cans. 

_"Hey, check it out, Haystack! This ain't a bad haul!"_ Richie had crowed, raising his 'trophies' above his head in hands wider than the average sixteen year old. Ben chuckled, amused on his friend's behalf, despite still being baffled about the cause of it. 

_"What's all that for? You getting ready for a game of 'kick the can' somewhere, or do you have a new BB gun to try out?"_ Ben had asked curiously, following Richie as he practically skipped into the local gas station to cash his precious six cans in. 

In exchange for the cans, Richie received one quarter and a nickel. Richie pocketed the quarter and flipped up two dimes from his other. _"Trade me for a quarter?"_ He questioned swiftly, nudging the nickel forward with the other coins with a long digit.

The cashier sighed but obediently (if not annoyedly) flipped up another quarter. Richie grinned and revealed his current stash; a whopping seventy five cents. 

Ben smiled softly, pleased for his friend. _"What're you going to buy with that? A gumball? Some chips? A fruit roll up?"_

Richie scoffed and shuffled his feet awkwardly, heading out the door. It was getting colder and Richie was noticeably shivering without a coat. Ben gulped, ashamed for a moment of his own oversized winter jacket. He followed Richie like a lost puppy, a small little smile on his lips as he did so. His eyes glanced up in confusion, however; as he found himself outside the laundromat. Richie shed his heavy backpack and yanked out two medium sized blankets, both looking very worn. He stuffed them into a dryer and paid his money to put them on full blast. Ben blinked in a nervous sort of way as he realized that Richie wasn't here to do laundry. He was here to warm up some blankets to help get him through the miserably cold Maine winter nights in a home the heat must have been cut off in at the start of the month due to nonpayment.

 _"Aw yeah, that's the good shit."_ Richie announced cheerfully, grinning as he gazed in at his blankets. _"Sometimes you can toss your stuff in with someone else's if they just drop it off. Didn't luck out today, though. Maybe tomorrow."_ He seemed oddly unbothered by the situation, just smiling down at Ben and waiting patiently for his blankets to warm up. Ben felt his heart ache for his friend, wishing that their situations could be different. At the time he was only a kid of fifteen years of age, and the concept of another kid his age going hungry and being cold at night due to neglect from his parents made his stomach hurt. 

_"Listen, Richie..."_ Ben had begun somewhat hesitantly, fidgeting his book under his arm. He didn't know how to approach this conversation; he knew Richie was prickly about accepting 'charity' from his friends and was reluctant to even admit he had a problem. He wished in that moment he could be brave like Bill and just invite him over to his house for the night, but thoughts of his bully older cousin and his prim and proper aunt overshadowed his confidence. He knew he would be rid of them in a few weeks, once his mother's loan went through on a home down in Texas; but he hadn't yet found the nerve to tell the rest of the Losers he was leaving. Bev was long gone and Bill was right behind her only six months later. Eddie's mom had stubbornly planted a 'For Sale' sign in her own front yard the very day that Eddie had stormed off to fight It, but it would be another year yet before it sold.

Richie shot him a curious look, arching a single eyebrow as he glanced down at the younger boy. His lips had quirked up into a mischievous smile as he leaned down to nudge Ben in the shoulder with his elbow. _"Ohhh, I gotcha, Haystack. I'm pickin' up what you're laying down."_ The timer on the dryer 'dinged' suddenly, alerting them that the blankets were fully dried. Richie eagerly flung open the dryer door, letting the handle bounce obnoxiously off the glass of the neighboring dryer with a quirky grin on his lips. He drug the two warm, toasty blankets out, nuzzling his face into one before he cast the other over his shoulders like a king might wear his cloak. _"Aaaaah, that's the good shit right there, Benny my Boy. Here, try it, more fun than getting your dick wet."_ he had teased, flopping the second blanket over the other boy.

Ben's eyes widened as he realized in that instant that Richie had assumed he wanted to share one of the warmed up blankets, even though Ben knew his mother was waiting at home for him with a steaming bowl of something hot and filling. And even though his aunt was snippy and his cousin was a jerk, he wasn't unhappy. He didn't want for anything, not really. And here Richie was, this gangly kid with oversized everything: oversized glasses, oversized shirts in flamboyant Hawaiian themed dwarfing his skinny frame, oversized tennis shoes bought at a garage sale for two bucks that were four sizes too large for him but meant he didn't have to buy a new pair for a couple years. He tripped over them constantly, leaving the white toes of the Converse muddy and scuffed no matter how tightly he tied them up. One even had a small rip, torn slightly from the time he got the toe of his shoe caught between the pedal of his bike and the spokes of the front wheel. 

Ben blinked up Richie in awe, the blanket meaning so much more to him that just a chance to warm up from the frigid Maine winter outside. This was truly the sort of gift you didn't expect, the one given to you by someone with less. He had always found himself wondering if Richie just hung out with Ben out of a sense of pity. Surely he had better friends without the Losers Club or even outside them that he would rather spend time with? Ben's self esteem was rather small and bruised; but grew stronger as each day passed that he was not tormented by the Bower's Gang. But this, this small gentle action disproved all of that. Surely Richie must actually like him if he was sharing his hard earned cash to keep the cold away with him.

And as Ben sat there with Richie at the laundromat, curled up next to him in plastic white chairs that scraped aggravatingly across the crackled linoleum (something Richie had discovered immediately to Ben's dismay) covered in warm but worn blankets that had more than one cigarette burn in the fabric. Despite all that, Ben was happy. He unearthed his library book, an old much loved copy of 'The Count Of Monte Cristo' and began to read it with the older teen, Richie shoving his glasses further up his nose with sticky, pop stained fingertips and leaving a smudge across a lens as he leaned in and became more engrossed in the story.

Ben just smiled and read on, and when the blankets were room temperature, he dug through his jeans until he came up with the remains of his allowance; a measly fifty cents. He passed the change to Richie, handed over his blanket, thanked him, and walked home. 

To this day, Ben didn't think he would have even needed a jacket to keep him from getting cold on the way home; his heart was so warm and happy he probably could have skipped home the entire way without giving even a shiver or indication that he felt the cold at all.

One of the blankets that he and Richie had shared was folded up inside the bottom of the first aid kit, smelling clean and washed, like fabric softener. His large fingertips gently traced the same cigarette burns in the same place on the soft blue felt, glancing up at Beverly and being stunned by the look of recognition in her green eyes, alit with a fire of wonder.

"You've seen this before." He stated softly, knowing it was the truth before his words even hit the open air of the bathroom.

Beverly nodded softly, her red curls bouncing along her shoulders as she reached into the box and lifted the blanket out with surprising gentleness. She brought it to her nose, bandages crinkling lightly as she breathed in. Her eyes sought his out in wonder for a moment, and Ben couldn't stop himself from smiling back at her. Even if the whole world was crumbling around him, Ben thought he would always be able to summon a smile if it was for Beverly.

She released the blanket back into his grip, ripples of gray blue material bunching up in his hands. The whole blanket used to have a design like a unicorn or something on it; likely a remnant from Maggie's sober past. Now the unicorn was barely there, the white tufts of other felt fabric having fallen out in clumps from overuse, leaving only the faintest outline of the steed behind.

"This used to be in Richie's dad's truck. I used to sleep there sometimes..." Bev breathed, an echo of a smile on her lips. The way she spoke, she didn't sound bitter at all over her lost childhood. Instead she seemed almost proud of it; wore it on her chest like a blue ribbon declaring 'look what I survived!'

It made Ben's heart leap to see that the world may have turned everyone else upside down, but Bev was too strong for that and had remained firmly right side up.

"Did that happen often...?" He asked, unable to help himself. She shot him a confused look, her lips pursed in silent questioning as she delicately folded up the loyal blanket and set it aside.

Her expression was guarded, as thought wondering what Ben had to gain from asking all these questions. After a long moment of searching his face for any sign of a trap or a trick, and finding nothing but genuine curiosity, she let her fair features relax. Her hand came up to tug lightly on a lock of long red hair, and she twirled it halfheartedly before letting it drop against her shoulder. "I...I think it was only like six or seven times. It was only when Da- when he was..." She trailed off, as if unsure how to address her long since deceased father. 

Ben shook his head quickly, waving his hands as if to swat the negative memories away. "You don't have to explain it to me, Bev. You don't owe me anything."

Beverly reached out bravely to interlace their fingers, palms together. Her hand was a bit cooler than his and his was much larger, but the simple touch still made his heart thump in his chest harder than it ever had the first time he attempted running for track. He felt the warmth of her hand against his and flushed, gently adjusting the way two of his fingers were laying so not to jostle the brace on her wrist.

Beverly leaned back to look up at him, a soft and relaxed smile on her lips. "I think maybe I do, Ben. Maybe I do." She laughed and shook her head, beginning to poke through more items in the long lost first aid kit, coming up with the book Ben had bought. "Look, it's that medical textbook you found at Secondhand Rose, Secondhand Clothes. Fifty cents, wasn't it?" She flipped the large volume over to read the back, humming to herself in thought. "You thought you really had yourself a bargain, there."

Ben took the book from her fingertips and smirked, sitting down on the edge of the bathtub with Beverly sitting close beside him, flipping through the pages. 

"It _was_ a bargain, Bev. I got it almost brand new. Eddie must have really flipped through it quite a bit to wear out this quickly." He explained softly, brushing aside the pages to find faded sticky notes placed there amongst the margins, his own notes hastily scribbled in.

"Let me see?" Bev asked, reaching across his lap to pull the book over to hers. As she did so, a folded up pamphlet advertising Bangor University's medical program slipped from the back and fell to the floor. Ben picked it up and felt a wave of melancholy wash over him at the reminder of Eddie's lost dream. 

Bev glanced at the date on the pamphlet and grimaced softly, turning it over. She was very delicate with the crisp and faded paper, as if unwilling to destroy the only remainders of what Eddie had once wanted to devote his life to. "This is only a couple months before he turned sixteen. He would have gone into that conversion camp shortly after that."

Ben sighed and reluctantly closed the book, feeling like he was closing the door on that part of Eddie's life. What else had he lost? What else had been torn away from their friends over the twenty seven years they spent apart?

Bev seemed to understand his sadness over yet another dream that wouldn't come true as she leaned across him to drag the first aid kit into her lap, coming up with a very faded and worn tape that had been colored with pink highlighter several years ago to read in bold and uneven print: 'EDDie mY LoVE'. She held it up between two fingers with a grin. "I can't remember every song he put on, can you?"

Ben shook his head with a good natured grin, plucking the tape from her offered hand and gently placing it in a worn out radio along the counter that had definitely seen better days. He thumbed the dial for the volume up slowly, hearing the gentle beginning chords of _'Dela'_ by Johnny Clegg and Savuka. An old classic from the early 90s, probably the newest thing Richie had put on this mixtape.

Bev laughed at the slow rhythmic drum music and African vibe from the beginning of the song. "I don't think I've heard this before, what is it?" She asked, tilting her head ever so slightly in the direction of the worn radio speakers.

_"One day I looked up, and there you were,"_

_"Like a simple question, looking for an answer."_

Ben grinned, the vocals washing over him like a baptism. He had once loved this song, whether in a time Before, During, or After Derry. At some point he knew the lyrics and the unique language used in it had piqued his interest, and the lyrics were some of the most lovely and romantic he knew. 

_"Now I am the whale listening to some inner call,"_

_"Swimming blindly to throw myself upon your shore."_

Johnny Clegg sang soulfully, Beverly nodding her head to the beat as she smiled coyly from her place balanced along the edge of the bathtub. "I like this. It's different, it feels familiar, but kind of new, too." Even with the bandages along the thin ridge of her nose, and the faint bruising around her eyes, she was still beautiful to Ben. He reached out to gently set the first aid kit aside, offering her his hand.

"Want to dance?" He asked softly, a faint smile on his face despite the fact that his heart thundered like a racehorse in his chest at his daring.

_"What if I don't find you when I have landed?"_

_"Will you leave me here to die, on your shore stranded?"_

_"I think I know why the dog howls at the moon,"_

_"I think I know why the dog howls at the moon."_

She laughed, embarrassment coloring her features as she glanced away. "B-Ben, a-are you serious? We...we shouldn't, not with everything that happened today..." Her face colored pink out of nervousness and she brushed aside a stubborn lock of hair that refused to lay with the others, glancing up at him questioningly when she saw that he had yet to move. He still offered his hand to her, palm up, a calm sort of smile on his lips.

"Forget about today. We're right here, now."

Bev blinked once, a sort of surprised smile on her lips, before she shook her head in disbelief at her own actions and gently took his hand. He slowly helped her to her feet and linked his other hand in hers, dancing chest to chest. Bev sighed a bit in contentment, resting her chin over his shoulder as she smiled and danced in Mike Hanlon's bathroom, to a song used to woo Eddie Kaspbrak, by Richie Tozier, with Bill Denbrough and Stanley Uris just outside the door, with Ben Hanscom himself.

It wasn't a situation she had ever thought she'd find herself in, but now that she was here, she wasn't complaining.

_"I sing dela, dela ngiyadela when I'm with you,"_

_"Dela, sondela mama sondela, I burn for you."_

The song crooned on in the bathroom as they danced, fingers intertwined and remaining quiet as they listened. Bev lifted her head up, a smile on her lips as she brushed them against Ben's earlobe, earning a shiver. 

"What does that all mean? Dela sundial or...whatever it is." She laughed into his shoulder as he peered down at her with amusement written in those hazel orbs.

"It's 'dela, dela ngiyadela, when I'm with you'. It means 'content, content, I am content when I'm with you." He said softly, biting his lip in disbelief that this was even happening. "Richie just liked the sound and the beat of it, he didn't even know what it all meant when he put it on the mixtape."

Beverly smiled in remembrance of her long lost friend, one of six that had been unexpectedly found and miraculously thrown back into her life. No matter what horrors awaited them in the morning, she would forever be grateful for that. "What about the rest?" She asked, her fingernails inching from their place resting in the palm of his hand to make their way up and around his neck, her brace making the reach a little awkward, but nothing impossible. Likewise, Ben's calloused hands cautiously drifted down from their place in front of the pair to hesitantly rest on her hips, just below her waist. He licked his lips for an instant, earnest eyes flicking down to hers for any sign of discomfort or a desire to not be touched; however, all he found was happiness and a sort of mischievous smile waiting for him. 

_I've been waiting for you all my life -- hoping for a miracle."_

_"I've been waiting day and night -- day and night~!"_

"Well..." Ben slowly wet his lips again, desperately wracking his brain for the meaning of those words he had looked up long before ever understanding the song's real meaning. 

_"I've been waiting for you all my life -- waiting for redemption."_

_"I've been waiting day and night -- I burn for you!"_

He hummed the lyrics under his breath until he got to the foreign lyrics, murmuring, "Dela, sondela mama sondela, I burn for you."

Bev blinked as the second verse started, the singer continuing on in the background while she reached over to gently turn the volume down. "Tell me what it means...?" she breathed, her nails fiddling gently with stray ends of his honey colored hair. 

Ben wouldn't deny her anything, even something as simple as this.

"It means, 'closer, come closer mama, I-I burn for you.'" He said back in a soft reply. Ben couldn't hold back the nervous shake of his lips upon realizing how similar these song lyrics were to the poem he had composed for her nearly three decades ago. The gentle warmth of her soft body curling into his making his heart race ever faster even as Bev gently pulled back, a mirthful sort of grin on her lips as she rested her palms on either side of his face. 

"You certainly do." And with that, she pressed a short, but meaningful peck to his lips. 

Ben flushed red, staring at her with wide eyes and nervousness on his features as she pulled back expectantly, his arms tightening slightly around her shoulders as he realized he had completely frozen up during their first real kiss.

"I-I messed it up, oh God, I-I'm s-so sorry Beverly, ah...um, sh-should I t-try again-?" He stuttered for a moment, covering his mouth in disbelief while Beverly just laughed, head thrown back and genuine peals of frantic giggles echoing around the small bathroom. One easy glance upwards, one flick of those emerald green eyes reassured him that it was not a mocking laughter, nor one meant to be at his expense. Her hands were smooth and soft as she sat down again on the edge of the bathtub, pulling him down next to her and pressing another chaste kiss to the side of his jawline. He let his large, sunkissed fingertips dart up to loosely entangle in those crimson red locks, his thumb brushing tentatively against her earlobe as he leaned down to kiss her for real.

This time, it was a good kiss.

Their lips molded together as though they had been made for each other, despite the fact her lips had been mixed and matched with at least two other men that Ben knew of. It didn't matter. That didn't matter. What mattered was that now he was here, Ben Hanscom, and for some inexplicable reason, the most lovely and sweet woman he had ever met in his life had chosen him, above all the rest. It didn't matter if some people might have said she was loose, or promiscuous. Ben just saw that as Beverly having more love to share with the world, and considered himself lucky to be a part of it.

He broke away slowly, their foreheads still pressing together, noses bumping as they shared the same breath. He looked down his nose into the face of the most perfect girl he'd ever met, and for an instant, it was like they had never been apart. 

It was like they were still thirteen years old in the summer of IT, except this time there was no clown. Georgie Denbrough made it home in time for dinner, Eddie's arm remained unbroken, Ben's stomach was scarless and unblemished by the reminder that people like Henry Bowers existed and wanted to do them harm. It was a kinder world, where Beverly had both parents home to kiss her and tuck her in while whispering 'goodnight', where Richie's parents cared more about their only son then they did booze and partying. Where Eddie grew up to become a doctor and never once was subjected to an illegal procedure that left him catatonic for almost a year. Where Bill slept peacefully through the night and wrote books about adventures with fantasy, not horror books. Where Stan enjoyed the occasional peaceful bath with the scent of soap and lilac filling the room, and no blood marred the floor. Where they continued on peacefully outside of Derry into adulthood, never once reembarking on that horrible road back to the small town that Maine forgot.

It was a kinder world, yes, but it wasn't theirs.

And as Ben pulled away, lids fluttering as he looked down at the one true love of his life, he wouldn't have had it any other way.

Sure, this world wasn't as kind as their imaginary one, but in that world, Beverly Marsh would have never come across Ben Hanscom dropping his history project on the ground while fumbling his bike in an expert show of clumsiness. She never would have signed his yearbook. Stan, Eddie, Richie, and Bill remained their own clique of losers, and Mike was still homeschooled. Beverly would still be the class whore and Ben would still be the new kid, until time or a worse nickname erased the rude words from the minds of their peers. 

They had gone through something together, something horrible. Ben's hand drifted from its place in Beverly's long red hair to gently brush under her chin, tilting her face up so he could admire it better. Her lips were pink and pursed, green eyes shadowed and content even as she shot a small, sweet smile at Ben.

"I think I know why the dog howls at the moon." she whispered, embracing him in a tight hug even as he smiled and hugged her back. 

"I think I know why the dog howls at the moon." He agreed softly, before his clever hands darted for the real first aid kit. 

It was time to come back from memory lane, and focus on the present, _their_ present, no matter what that meant for them in the morning. At least, for right now, they had each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, in case you noticed, the first aid kit in this chapter that Ben and Bev come across is ripped directly from another work of my own called First-Aid. For a more detailed description of the items inside and the events leading up to Richie giving it to him, check it out here! http://archiveofourown.org/works/13234656


	64. Eddie's Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie prepares for the morning after spending the night cuddling with Richie. Some interesting events take place while he's in the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning all! Just curious, who prefers less frequent updates with slightly longer chapters vs daily updates of about 1000 words? Let me know lovelies ;) Have a great day!
> 
> EDIT: I just realized we broke 1400 kudos last night you guys what the FUCK

Eddie woke up slowly to the faint sound of knuckles rapping against the maple wood door, before Mike's voice came through, slightly muffled on the other side.

"Richie? Eddie? Wake up, there's a little surprise for you guys downstairs." he called, before the stairs squeaked and announced his departure. Mike was nothing if not patient, he would give them the time they needed to recharge.

Eddie yawned then, curling closer into the source of heat next to him. His broken arm gently wrapped over the warm body beside him, and he tugged them closer so he could nuzzle his face in the crook of their neck. In his half awake state, he didn't even question the faint smell of cigarette smoke and cologne that clung to the wispy black curls that brushed against his nose as he moved. Confused and dreamy brown eyes fluttered open, his good hand coming up to rub at one with a faint yawn. 

The body next to him shifted, letting out a low grunt as they adjusted their position and flipped a lanky limb over him. Eddie slowly stilled as well, relaxing into the hold, before reality seemed to catch up with him. His eyes widened as he sat upright, examining the face before him closely. Richie blinked blearily up at him, eyes squinting to see him due to the lack of his glasses. 

"Mmf...? Spa...what're you doin', squirming around, I was getting comfy and a major case of morning wood." Richie grumbled softly, sitting up as well. Eddie swatted him halfheartedly with the pillow, mock disgust on his face. 

"Shut up, you're fucking gross. We should go see if everyone else is still awake." Eddie prompted him, prodding the older man in the arm with a finger to hide his embarrassment. Richie whined and rolled to the side, flopping the bend of his elbow over his face.

"What is this, Christmas? Who cares who's awake right now, point is that I don't wanna be. We were snugglin', let's go back to thaaaaat." Richie mumbled halfheartedly, hearing the squeak of bedsprings as Eddie stubbornly got to his feet and headed straight for the adjoining bathroom. He hadn't cared about the status of his clothing at the time, but now that he had time to rest and recover a little from the awful situation the others had rescued him from, the driver wanted _out_ of the bloody clothing. 

He took Richie's bag of clothes again, without asking. He knew by now that Richie wouldn't mind.

Once in the bathroom, he quickly shed the shirt, cringing at the way the blood had dried the shirt partially to his chest, glued there with dried blood. He pulled it away with a cringe at the slick noise it produced, frantically moving over to the shower and turning it on hot.

Eddie began his basic routine, removed his pants, socks, and briefs as well, shivering there for a moment before he cautiously slipped a toe under the spray to inspect it for the ideal temperature. Evidently satisfied with that, Eddie stepped under the water, sighing in relaxation as he pulled the curtain shut behind him. The hot spray pounded against his shoulders and the back of his head, the water by his feet turning a coppery shade of rusty brown as the old blood washed away. Eddie leaned his forehead against the cool porcelain of the shower wall, sighing and inadvertently leaving a faint circular patch of condensation on the wall. In a small fit of whimsy, Eddie's fingertip drew out a very quick and hesitant heart on the wall.

His chestnut colored eyes crinkled in a smile as the water droplets coming out of the shower head splattered against it, soon obscuring the original shape from view. That didn't matter, though. Even if nobody else had seen it, Eddie knew it was there.

He scrubbed at his body with the washcloth stubbornly, his chest and stomach soon bright red from the force of him trying to remove all the blood residue. Sure, he may not have ever been a friend of Tom's, but the man had likely died in a horrifyingly painful way. Eddie didn't want the visual reminder stuck to his body.

He worked his skin up with a faint lather of body wash, nose wrinkling slightly at the scent roiling off of it. It was Richie's, some sort of generic one use fits all soap that was multipurpose, cleaned your hair and your body all in one. Eddie was extremely skeptical, squeezing the contents into the palm of his hand to squint at them doubtfully. Finally he decided to play it safe and let the soap wash down the drain; his hand reaching over to choose Stan's shampoo and Beverly's conditioner. They were the closest things to the brands he liked to use at home, and he knew they wouldn't mind.

However, as he reached for Stan's small pouch of toiletries, the bag split open, causing an open box of razors to drop around him. In a frantic sort of instinct, Eddie's fumbling fingers reached out to try and catch them, earning a large gash across two fingertips for his troubles.

"Shit-!" He hissed, his hand flying to his mouth. Eddie pulled it away, glancing down at the thin but relatively deep cut that gouged the tips of his left pointer and middle fingers. Being very careful not to slip and step on one of the ten razorblades that had fallen to the ground of the stall, Eddie reached for the washcloth. He knelt carefully, shutting off the water with one hand while his injured one delicately picked up the razors and set them along the counter.

The white marble of the bathrub was offset by the few drops of inky red, slipping down his fingertips across the back of his hand, to drop off the bend of his elbow and splatter against the bottom of the tub with a wet, sick little splatting sound. Eddie cringed, flicking his left hand away and accidentally sending a few more droplets of blood running down his hand dribbling down the drain. "God damn it-!" he whispered, quickly reaching out for his washcloth to wipe the injury clean. It stopped bleeding quickly, leaving him to spread a thin line of an antibiotic across the cut, before plastering two cheerful smiley face bandages on top of both cuts.

"Good enough..." he murmured under his breath, carefully wedging each of the razor blades back into their neat little box. His trembling fingertips gently collected the rest, being careful not to cut himself on any of the others. The faint wrinkles along his wet fingertips made it difficult but he managed in the end.

 _'Eight..nine...where's the tenth razor?'_ he wondered vaguely to himself, peeking back along the stall of the shower to see if perhaps during the course of his accident he had misplaced the final missing one. Wet and slippery fingers carefully parted the shower curtain, as if perhaps it had become lodged amongst them? Again, Eddie came up empty handed. He frowned to himself, furrowing his brow before sighing and reaching out to set the box back amongst Stan's belongings in as close to the same position as it had been before as he could remember. Eddie knew that Stan despised when his possessions were mismanaged or unorganized. He wanted things left exactly as they had been when he was finished using them; it helped him work through his obsessive compulsive disorder and made him feel more real.

He gently lifted up the lid of Richie's worn bag of clothing, picking with some mild disgust through the dirty ones the man in question had haphazardly tossed amongst his belongings in lieu of just washing them. Eddie came up with a pair of soft jeans that looked like they would fit if not have to be rolled up several times to not drag on the floor.

Sometimes he really hated their size difference; then he thought back to cuddling with the older man, his head tucked in the crook of Richie's neck as he inhaled the scent of old cologne and stale smoke. It wasn't a scent he ever pictured himself enjoying, but he couldn't deny how safe it made him feel. How safe _Richie_ made him feel. His stomach lurched at the thought of Myra or god help him, his _mother_ finding out, before reality caught up with him and he realized neither of them were in a position to judge nor care.

Eddie dried himself off systematically, carefully folding his used towel and hanging it to dry, flipping it up to hide the small patch of blood from his cuts. He didn't want someone else to use the bathroom later and become startled...

He shrugged on a tight, form fitting T-shirt from Richie's bag advertising some sort of obscure sports team he didn't recognize, tugging it down until it covered the thin stripe of flesh visible above his navel. He didn't understand why Richie would have such a tight shirt mixed in with his clothes, especially considering he preferred loose, flowing clothing that hid his form from the world. Momentarily unconcerned, Eddie finished up his morning routine of combing his hair into his usual style and putting on some deodorant and his own small bottle of cologne, a much more subtle scent than the one Richie was partial to. With that done, he glanced at himself in the mirror, checked to make sure any stray drops of blood had been successfully washed away from the interior of the tub, and headed downstairs to meet up with the rest of his friends.


	65. Just Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and the other Losers enjoy a calm morning broken only by Eddie remembering that Myra is missing and all that that entails. Mike takes charge to try and figure out what the hell is going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning lovelies! Have another long chapter because work was slow last night. ;) Cheers!

Eddie headed down the stairs slowly, his fingers drumming lightly against the wood of the railing. He wondered to himself if Richie had yet tried to slide down the bannister, and if he hadn't, was it because a tiny level of maturity had finally set in? Or more likely, had the mood of the last few weeks stifled any sense of fun Richie had left? He wasn't entirely sure.

Eddie could hear voices echoing down the halls and up the stairs, a soft easy sort of smile on his lips as he made out Bill scolding Richie for pouring way too much syrup on his pancakes. Eddie overheard Bev's tinkling laugh and Mike's soft chuckles, peering around the doorframe of the kitchen to observe. Richie was stubbornly dumping more syrup onto his pancakes, which were already topped with a generous helping of chocolate chips, whipped cream, and what looked like Skittles. Georgie was watching him closely in a disgusted sort of awe, jaw dropped as he watched pools of rich thick syrup slide down the confection and collect in Richie's bowl.

Eddie took that moment to come around the corner and snatch the bottle away, ignoring the startled, "Hey-!" that the action earned him. Bill shot him a grateful smile, rolling his eyes as he flipped another pancake in the pan.

"Th-Thanks, Eddie. Muh-Mike's been t-to town twuh-twice already today, nuh-no need for huh-him to make a th-third trip because Ruh-Richie nuh-never l-learned how to shuh-share." Bill commented, dishing up the freshly completed pancake and handing the plate to Eddie. He accepted it with a thankful nod, pulling a chair up in between Richie and Beverly and letting a few lines of drizzled syrup dust lightly over his breakfast. He used the fork and knife to cut a small bite, giving a small little sigh of contentment as the hot food touched his tongue. He glanced up in surprise as he realized Richie had stopped eating and was staring at him like a thirsty man in the desert looked at an oasis. Richie didn't seem to notice he was staring, his bottom lip wedged between his teeth as he intently focused on Eddie eating. When the aforementioned man arched an eyebrow and Bev cleared her throat meaningfully, Richie colored, shaking his head as if awakening from a daydream and beginning to shovel the sugary concoction before him into his mouth. Eddie blinked in curiosity, wondering what could possibly be so fascinating about watching things go into his mouth, then went dark red as he remembered the photo Richie had of himself and Alex. He stared almost determinedly down at his plate, finishing his pancake in record time. Judging by the fact that Stan was buried up to his elbows in hot soapy water at the kitchen sink, the others had already finished eating. Eddie wiped his mouth with the napkin and glanced up, determinedly ignoring the way Richie was bouncing his knee under the table. "Mike, Bill said you went into town twice today...? What for?"

Mike sipped his coffee slowly, a small smile peering over the lip of his mug as he set it down, looking somewhat smug. "We picked up a few things for around the house. Groceries, a spare twin sized bed for a guest room, new clothes and toiletries for a few of us...well, and then the main surprise. It was Ben's idea. Check the driveway."

Eddie frowned in confusion but got to his feet, pausing long enough to apologetically slide his dishes into the sink. Stan shook his head as though annoyed, but Eddie could see the small smirk visible under the curls that hung in his eyes. "Sorry, Stan." He apologized anyway, before slipping past him to peek out the front door.

His jaw dropped.

There, parked in the front spot in Mike's driveway, was his prized navy blue Lincoln Continental. It looked clean, as though it had even taken a trip through a car wash. There was the smallest scuff along the front bumper, likely from spinning into the ditch in the first place, but it was superficial. The passenger side mirror also looked like it may have been knocked off, but had been reattached with some sort of adhesive and wire. Honestly it didn't look anything like it had gone into the ditch less than twelve hours ago. 

Eddie's jaw flapped wordlessly, unsure of how to even begin to thank them for this gift.

Then, he realized something rather suddenly, whirling around to face the rest of the Losers, who had come to cluster together on the porch. "Where's Ben? I haven't seen him all morning-" Eddie began hesitantly while Bev just smiled. She clutched her mug of coffee in between her mitten clad hands, the steam rising off of it curling around her red hair and dissipating into the cool morning air. 

"There he is now." She said with a smirk, pointing down the road. Honestly, Eddie should have been able to hear him more than see him. Loud rock music was blaring out of the 'arrest me' red painted convertible, the car looking sleek and undamaged as Ben easily coasted it into the driveway. Eddie could hear AC/DC howling 'Shake A Leg' as it grew closer, before Ben parked it and killed the engine with a flourish.

"Tadaa!" He announced with a small grin, opening the door and sliding out while Richie looked like he was about ready to tackle hug him. 

"M-My car, you...you guys fixed my car...!" He ran his hands over the front end, spotless and cleanly repaired. If he looked closely, he could see the thin cracks of where the paint had been redone and the metal underneath had been carefully pounded back out into a flat sheet, but it was honestly a nice job, regardless. "Who-?" He asked helplessly, his mirth infectious as he grinned happily over at the others.

"Ben's the one who thought we should get Eddie's car back, and that inspired Mike to get creative." Stan explained, drying his hands on a towel and slinging it over his shoulder when he was finished. A self satisfied smirk rested over his pale lips.

Eddie looked up curiously at that, his fingers gently running over the side of the Lincoln as if apologizing for leaving her in the ditch overnight. "What do you mean, Mike got creative?" he asked curiously, his nose scrunching up in confusion.

Mike colored slightly, looking embarrassed, but Bev just grinned. "Rich, you've got a damn insurance policy on your car. Stan spun the story the right way so you'd have full coverage, and Mike impersonated you on the phone a couple of times. We all pitched in to fly the best mechanic and one of the better detailers down from Bangor shortly after you two went to bed, and presto! Your cars are fixed."

Richie rubbed the back of his neck, which was turning red from embarrassment. "You guys didn't have to do that..." he murmured softly, his fingers tangling lightly in uncontrollable black curls that were as determined to defy gravity as they were to fall into his face. 

Bev smiled sweetly but Ben just laughed, a deep, belly laugh as he let his fingers entangle with Beverly's. "We all make decent money, Rich, not just you. It only cost us a couple hundred bucks apiece, and considering what you've done for us over the years, that's really nothing."

Richie showed his appreciation by grinning and managing to catch Beverly, Ben, and Mike in a tackle hug, only Bill, Stan, and Eddie managing to avoid his overly long reach through experience. Ben grunted as they all hit the ground, but Beverly and Mike just laughed and hugged him back.

For once, things were maybe going their way. For now.

Richie apologized and helped them all get to their feet, clearly still ecstatic that his precious car was repaired. It was Stan who ushered them all back inside, looking somewhat antsy as he did so. "It's freezing, you guys. Let's get back inside, Eddie's still not at 100%."

Eddie furrowed his brow in confusion but didn't argue, accepting the keys to his Lincoln graciously from Ben and pocketing them. He then let out a surprised screech of anger as Richie easily slipped his hands under his knees and around his shoulders, scooping him up as if he weighed nothing. "Put me down, you giant Sasquatch!" he squirmed lightly but was unable (or perhaps unwilling) to escape Richie's hold. Ben's eyebrows hit his hairline as he observed this, having evidently been unaware of the 'upgrade' in Richie and Eddie's relationship. Bev just shook her head, a dazzling smile on her lips, while Stan remained stone faced and Bill stifled a smile. He was glad that despite everything bad that had been happening to the nine of them since returning to Derry, Eddie and Richie had finally gotten together.

Richie cackled maniacally as he held the door open for the others with his foot, before carrying Eddie inside and gracelessly dumping him on the couch, earning a squawk of protest as he did so. "You heard Stan the Man, Eds, you're a fragile delicate flower and must be protected." He finished up this statement by flopping atop the shorter man and burying his head in his neck, Eddie's hands pushing him away in exasperated annoyance.

"Get _off me,_ you clingy fucking octopus-!"

Stan just rolled his eyes at this display and dropped the afghan over the two of them, obscuring them from sight. "Okay, we get it, you two are a thing now and we're all very happy for you. Now please stop manhandling Eddie before he breaks your spleen and Georgie has to watch."

Eddie popped his head up from underneath the blankets and squirmed out of Richie's grip, panting and smoothing down his wrinkled shirt. Richie's long fingers made pathetic grabby motions from under the blanket, along with a whiny noise of complaint, but he didn't follow. "Eddieeeee come baaaack why you gotta do me like this?"

Beverly sat on the Richie shaped lump under the covers and squealed as his fingers managed to locate the back of her knee, beginning to tickle her relentlessly. She shrieked in delight, swatting Richie under the blanket to try and get him to stop. 

"Ooh, kinky, Eds, hit me harder-!" Richie fake moaned from under the blanket, stopping in mid whine as Beverly ripped the blanket off his face to reveal it wasn't Eddie he was tickling. "Oops. Wrong short angry person. Eh, close enough." He grinned as he dug his knuckles into the meat of her armpit, earning a startled cackle and frantic giggling from Beverly as Ben grinned and began to 'rescue' her.

Eddie rolled his eyes and returned to the kitchen to help Stan finish the dishes. "I can't believe I actually chose that idiot."

Stan just smirked as he finished drying a plate, sliding it into its specific spot and reaching for another. "I can't believe it didn't happen sooner, to be completely honest."

Eddie bit his lip, glancing up at Stan in confusion. "Sooner? It...it couldn't have happened sooner. Myra was with m..." he trailed off in horror, face growing pale in startled realization. It was like a recreation of him returning to Derry, only much faster. The memories from last night hit him like a freight train; unexpectedly and swiftly. "Oh my _God,_ Myra! Is she okay? Where is she right now? Did It get her? Oh my God this is all my fault I never should have told her where I was going I did this, this is all me oh my-"

He became aware of wet hands clamping around his wrists, one dampened by the weight of his fresh cast. Eddie was hyperventilating, drawing in frantic breaths as suppressed memories of what had happened last night seemed to hit him full force. His knees gave way and he felt those same damp, long, clever fingers support him as he fell, not letting him hurt himself. His head was forced gently between his knees and he became aware of a soft and soothing voice murmuring, even as those long arms wrapped around his form.

"Shh, just stay calm. Breathe. Focus on five things you can see, four you can hear, three you can touch, two you can smell, and one you can taste. Repeat them back to me, okay, Eddie? I need you to do that for me. Can you do that? Breathe. In and out, slowly. There you go. Try to concentrate. Hey, I need those five things you can see, alright?"

As Eddie managed to somehow follow those instructions, his pulse thundering in his ears and his breaths quick, uncertain and shallow little things, he forced his eyes open. Stan was holding him close, grounding him, and it was his voice easily murmuring the calming words. "F...Fridge door.." Eddie choked out, his throat feeling like it was swelling closed, his chest tight. The more he fought for a breath, the worse it became. "Th...the chai...uunnh...!" He felt his head swimming for an instant, before Stan was gently guiding his head back between his knees.

"Shh, Eddie, you're okay, you're safe now, you're fine. We're all fine. We're going to get out of here and things will be _fine."_ Stan's voice was calm and collected, and much too sure of himself. Eddie's stomach sank through the haze of his anxiety attack, his fingers insistently grabbing Stan's. He realized in that moment that Stan didn't _know,_ that nobody had told him-!

"Uhhnnn...! N-No...! Don't you... _gasp_... see? _Wheeze_... w-we're stuck..! C-Can't... uhnnn-- go home-!"

He heard footsteps thunder into the room through his disorientation, and a smaller, more hysterical part of himself counted the ruckus as one of the four things he could hear. "What happened?" Richie demanded, all traces of joking long gone. He felt a different set of hands touch his bare skin, along his arm, and he cringed, curling away. The hands vanished in an instant, before returning to his clothed back to rub gently. He relaxed, too currently overstimulated to be able to handle more skin on skin contact at the moment.

"What happened?" Richie repeated, more softly. Eddie was still wheezing softly in the background of all the chaos, curled in a small ball next to Stan, who looked remarkably in control at the moment.

Stan gently reached for a dry washcloth to dab at the damp spot his wet hands had left on Eddie's cast and on his left wrist. "He was helping me with the dishes and then...I think he remembered what happened last night."

Eddie heard Bill whoosh in a slow breath, before quick and unsteady footsteps descended from upstairs.

"I got 'im his inhaler, Richie! That'll help 'im, right?" Piped up Georgie's soft, sweet voice. Mike's eyes widened in alarm as he reached out to take the aspirator, thumbing over the label.

 _'Edward Kaspbrak, Administer As Needed For Assistance With Shortness Of Breath Caused By Asthma'_ announced the small label. It had no expiration date listed, and the inhaler itself looked very worn.

Mike knelt to look Georgie in the eyes, confusion evident on his aged features. "Georgie, I need you to tell me where you got this, okay? We need to decide if it's safe to give to Eddie; if it's too old it might make him more sick. Do you understand?"

Georgie nodded solemnly, pointing up the stairs. "It was in Eddie's first aid kit! Mommy always told me to check the first aid kit first, cuz that's why it's called a _first_ aid kit, not a second aid kit." He rocked back and forth proudly on his heels. "D'ya think it'll help 'im?"

Bev and Ben shared looks of surprise. "We found that first aid kit last night, Buddy. Dug through it, too. There was no inhaler in it." Ben began hesitantly, looking unsurely over at Bev. She nodded firmly, reassuring him that what he said was true.

Mike thinned his lips into a line and glanced wordlessly over to Bill. Richie seemed equally torn, glancing up past the thick lenses in his glasses to regard Bill with a look of curiosity. It was clear he wanted to help Eddie, as the shorter man continued to gasp and wheeze, his head still resting between his knees as he tried desperately to calm down and breathe. Bev knelt near him as well, whispering soft little statements that meant nothing, were designed only to calm him down. 

Bill swallowed thickly, his knuckles tightening around the top of the chair he was standing in front of. His eyes were stony and agonized, darting from the worn inhaler Georgie had found to Eddie's shaking and trembling form. They wanted him to make a decision, as usual. A small wave of anger crept up into his chest at the thought. _'Why the hell do I always have to make the hard decisions?'_ he thought to himself somewhat desperately. _'If it makes him sicker, they'll blame me. If it doesn't help, they'll blame me. If I choose not to give it to him and he can't calm down on his own, guess what? They'll blame me.'_ He didn't seem to notice, but his expression had soured considerably.

Ben's nudge seemed to snap him out of it. "Bill? We need you here with us, man."

Bill breathed out slowly, trying to stifle the odd sense of frustration pooling in his chest as he reached for his rational thought. It made sense to give it to Eddie. The inhaler honestly couldn't make things worse, at this point, and hadn't Georgie himself said he found it inside Eddie's first aid kit?

"I-I duh-don't think we should ruh-risk it. N-Not when he's thuh-this worked up. It's t-t-too duh-dangerous." Bill stated instead, releasing his grip on the chair. His tone was steady and sure, crossing his arms over his chest.

Georgie looked confused and hurt for a moment, but it was overlooked by Richie and Stan getting to their feet to gently heft Eddie between them. His face was ash gray, his lips tinged faintly blue, but his eyes were scared and alert, aware enough to participate in a discussion despite his difficulties breathing. Richie was whispering to him, even now, short reminders to 'relax' and 'copy my breathing, Spaghetti Man.'

Eddie wheezed heavily, scowling lightly for a moment just long enough to choke out, "D-Don't...call me...S'g...tt'i M'n." They led him into the living room where Audra was perched near the window, regarding the outside world with a fragile curiosity. She didn't look up as they entered the room, as a bird had just landed on the feeder outside. Her pupils grew slowly wider for a second, the only real sign she even noticed it at all. 

Richie laughed shallowly in response to Eddie's comment, a broken and scared thing that didn't meet his eyes. It moved shallowly through the room and disappeared quickly. Bev rested her hand on Eddie's knee, her thumb gently running up on Richie's inhales, and down on his exhales. It was a simple but effective way to help him concentrate on breathing naturally.

Mike carefully led the rest of them into the living room. Stan and Bill seemed drawn to Audra's side, with the leader of the Losers gently settling next to her and Stan on his left side. Richie, Eddie, Bev, and Ben took the long couch, Georgie perching somewhat unhappily on Ben's lap, shooting Bill a glare.

Mike entered the room last, settling in the large ornate rocking chair by the fireplace. "Okay, we need to have this talk, now, rather than later. Eddie? Are you with us?"

Eddie's head lolled on his neck for a moment before he unsteadily flashed the 'A-OK' sign at Mike. Richie didn't look reassured in the slightest, gently reaching out to grab Eddie's hand in his own and placing it over his chest. "Just listen to my breathing. Follow it if you can."

A raspy sort of breath was the response he got, but Eddie's condition slowly began to improve the longer he sat there. Mike waited patiently for him to get his breathing under control, glancing over to Bill, Stan, and Audra with something like acceptance on his features.

"We need to discuss exactly what the hell is going on here in Derry," he stated seriously, locking eyes with each of them in turn. "We've all experienced something in the past day, something different for each of us."

"We can't hope to come up with any sort of idea of what we're facing or how to deal with it unless we know what all is going on. So," he trailed off, his palms clasped together loosely as he regarded them all with a serious expression, "Who wants to go first?"


	66. Turtle Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Losers discuss more of the events they've experienced together and in private. Audra makes another significant improvement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg I'm so freaking sorry this chapter is so late today, my internet has been messed up and it just now posted! Sorry to everyone who won't see the update until tomorrow :(

It was non surprisingly Beverly who went first. "When Richie and I were having a smoke...everyone seemed to walk by like they couldn't even see us. When we were kids smoking in that alley, the shop owner always used to chase us away, or people walking down the street would shoot us nervous looks...today it was like we weren't even real. I don't know if that's an actual case of something weird happening or just my imagination, but..."

Richie's eyes drifted up from where they had been gazing at Eddie's hand on his chest, nodding firmly and looking rather thoughtful. "Bev's right. I didn't notice at the time but something was fishy going on, there." He snapped his fingers abruptly and glanced back over at Bev. "Your lighter! The turtle shaped one? You said you've had it for years and only now did it quit working."

Mike blinked in surprise, having pulled a notebook off the bookshelf to carefully document all of these details. He printed the words 'Bev's Lighter' under the heading of 'Turtle Sightings'. "Does anyone else remember seeing any sort of sign or reference to the Turtle lately?" 

Bill snorted softly from his place next to Audra, running a finger gently over the back of her hand. "Th-The Turtle's d-dead, Mike. It cuh-can't help us now." Stan gave a soft sigh that clearly indicated agreement, looking somewhat torn.

Mike hesitated, his pen not quite touching the page. "What makes you say that, Bill?"

Bill's blue eyes glanced over to meet his own brown ones, a sad expression on his face. "Wh-When Richie and I wuh-were in the duh-deadlights. We found...the Turtle's body. It is duh-dead. It can't huh-help us a-anymore."

Ben's lips thinned out into a line, his fingers drumming against Georgie's leg. "I don't know if I believe that." He began hesitantly. "Every since we got here, things have been happening again, yes. But when we thought Stan, Eddie, and Georgie were dead, I felt like...some of us were missing. It was like an actual injury, like I could really feel it. When I saw them all alive, it was like that all went away. I don't think that's in my head. I think somehow, the Turtle is still out there somewhere and still wants to help us." His tone was soft but his words were firm. Bev smiled at him with a sharp nod of agreement.

Mike hesitated again, looking from one group of Losers to the other. His pen didn't mark on the page again yet. 

"So we're not in agreement on the current state of the Turtle?" Mike asked, arching an eyebrow. "How many of you believe the Turtle is dead?"

Stan and Bill raised their hands. Eddie and Richie both looked hesitant, and Beverly and Ben were definitely sure the Turtle was lingering somehow. Mike glanced over at Georgie, who looked honestly put out by the question. After a second of silence, he gently penciled in Stan and Bill's names under a new heading: _Turtle is Dead_. After a second he created a new one simply stating _Turtle is Alive_.

"Who thinks the Turtle or some other inherently good force is watching out for us?" Mike asked, deliberately not telling them what his stance on the matter was.

Ben and Beverly raised their hands, before Georgie shot his hand in the air with such intensity he nearly gave Ben a bloody nose. He had his bottom lip stuck out in a pout, stubbornly shooting Stan and Bill a betrayed look.

Mike struggled to hide a smirk as he delicately wrote in 'Beverly, Ben, and Georgie' under the heading _Turtle is Alive._

He gestured with the pen at both Richie and Eddie. "What's your stance, Richie?" 

The comedian hesitated for a moment, rubbing at his chin for a second and making a face at the few short stubborn hairs he found there. "Can't really say." He finally spoke after a long moment of thinking. "Sure, Big Bill, I remember when we were fighting Pennywise, doin' the whole Ritual thing, there was something there that was big and dead. But that doesn't mean it was the Turtle."

Eddie, who seemed to have gradually gotten to the point where he could breathe easy enough to speak, gently cleared his throat into his fist. "I...I like the idea. That, y'know, something good, a-and strong wants us to kill It for good. But....I...I'm just not sure it's a good idea to bank on that. The Turtle has been...well... not so reliable in the past. Sometimes it helps us and sometimes we're on our own."

Mike nodded in understanding, before writing a third category into his book: _Undecided_ , before carefully writing in Richie and Eddie's names.

"What about you, Mike? What do you think?" Ben asked curiously, accurately guessing that Mike hadn't added his own name to the list.

Mike sighed and examined the names; a pretty even split. "I'm staying impartial. If I had to choose right now.... I suppose I'm with Richie and Eddie, because we don't know for sure and like Eddie said, assuming the Turtle is alive and actively helping is could be a very dangerous miscalculation; one that I'm not totally sure we can afford to make at this point."

Bill, Stan, and Eddie nodded, but Ben, Bev, and Richie still looked a bit unconvinced. Georgie was still stubbornly crossing his arms over his thin chest, clearly annoyed by the rest of the Loser's stance.

Mike nodded and glanced over at Bev. "Anything else strange to add?"

She nibbled at her bottom lip for a moment before she nodded and began describing the incident with Tom. "On....on the way back into Derry, after we found Eddie-"

Ben reached over to gently rest his hand on her knee, his thumb rubbing small circles as he shot her a questioning look. She smiled somewhat sadly and nodded once.

"I'm okay, Ben...a-anyway, we made it back to Derry. The...the sign. The _body-"_ She drew in a short, calming breath, before exhaling and nodding. "Tom's body was there. Richie said he saw something human looking eating a body with no head and hand. Tom's body was leaning against the sign, his...his head was tucked under his arm like a motorcycle helmet."

Eddie went pale and Stan drew in a short breath. This was the first actual confirmed kill by whatever this enemy was. It was a very telling sign that whatever it was, it wanted them dead.

Mike nodded, unsurprised, but it was Stan who he was worried about. Neither he or Georgie were aware that they were likely trapped in Derry just like Eddie was.

"Mike? Do you...I mean, would you like to...explain the other thing with the sign?" Ben asked softly, shooting Stan, Eddie, and Georgie a nervous look.

Mike sighed and shook his head. "Not yet. That's later on down the line. Bill? Anything odd happen while you and Stan were at the hospital?"

Bill glanced up from where his fingers were interlaced with Audra's, giving a hesitant shrug. "I...thuh-there were a c-couple thuh-things. I...I stuh-stopped st-stuttering, j-just for a suh-second. Stan h-heard." The aforementioned accountant nodded firmly, crossing his legs and drumming his fingertips across his knee. He looked unsure of how to explain.

Mike prompted him gently, a soft expression on his warm features. "Stan...? Would you like to say something?"

Stan bit his lip and let out a shaky sigh, tucking a stubborn curl behind his ear. "I-It was just stress, probably. I...there was this doctor. And he...he tried to take Audra away. I stopped him. And then he just...disappeared. He...he knew my name, he knew Audra's name...I just...there's no way! Some things just aren't empirically possible!" 

Bill looked distressed at Stan's stricken expression, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder comfortingly. Stan gave him a surprised look, tensing for a second upon contact, before he relaxed into the touch, giving Bill a hesitant smile.

Mike carefully wrote all of these details down, wanting to know more but unsure if Stan was mentally able to discuss it right now. "What did the doctor look like?"

Stan furrowed his brow as he sought to remember in perfect detail, as he always did. "Tall, salt and pepper colored curly hair. Older. He had glasses, horn rimmed and ugly. Um...he had really, _really_ big teeth. Not just the front ones. All of them looked just a little too big to fit his mouth, let alone his face."

Richie seemed concerned by this description, his hands clenching around the torn knees of his jeans. One long finger stubbornly worked itself in and out of the loose threads, tearing a few out completely. Eddie looked distressed, reaching up to gently press a small kiss just under his earlobe. Richie relaxed enough at that to speak his mind, looking torn between happiness at Eddie's action and stricken by the description of the doctor. "Maybe this is just me being self centered, it usually is, but doesn't Stan's mystery doctor sound like he looks a lot like me?"

Stan blinked in surprise before his eyes went wide. "He...he _did_ sort of look like Richie. Not completely, and definitely not the right age, but if you dyed his hair black and changed the glasses...maybe..."

Richie shot Mike a look of alarm, gesticulating wildly at Stan who arched an eyebrow at his antics. "What the fuck, so this new It or whoever the fuck can just go around stealing my fucking shape?"

Stan shook his head at once, intercepting Richie's concerns before they had a chance to escalate. "Richie, hey, no. It wasn't like that at all. I...I think maybe...well, it definitely wasn't human. So whatever it is, I wonder if it just picked a random form?"

Mike frowned, deep in thought but unsure how to explain. "Pennywise had the basics of mind reading. That's how It always knew what we were afraid of. What if...what if this creature is the same, and it was trying to make Stan comfortable letting Audra go with him? By taking a form similar to someone he trusts."

Stan's eyes widened and Richie paused thoughtfully. Beverly bounced her leg up and down somewhat anxiously, her bottom lip worried between her teeth. "What would have happened if Audra went with him?"

Stan looked angry at the very notion. "I wouldn't have let that happen." He insisted, crossing his arms over his chest and looking affronted. Bill squeezed his shoulder affectionately in a silent reminder to stay calm and Stan melted into his touch. It was almost embarrassing how gone for him the accountant was. Bev shared a quick glance with Ben and smiled softly behind her hand, eyes twinkling in a knowing manner. 

Bill furrowed his brow. "The ruh-room she was in...it wuh-was gone, th-they took it o-out tuh-twenty seven yuh-yuh-years-"

Mike nodded slowly. "I remember some work being done on the hospital shortly after the flood was over. They took advantage of the insurance payout, that's for sure."

Ben looked nervous, glancing over at Audra out of the corner of his eye. "If she would have gone with the fake doctor...I don't think we would have ever seen her again."

Bill reached over to touch Audra immediately, almost as if self reassurance that she was okay, that Stan had been watching out for her. Stan, oddly enough had a likewise anguished expression at the thought. Perhaps he had grown fond of her recently.

Georgie frowned and looked over at Mike, squinting almost comically as he did so before awkwardly inching his hand into the air. The librarian blinked once in alarm as Georgie kept looking away from him, as though he was hurting the six year old to look at. "Georgie? Something you'd like to add?" Mike asked not unkindly. He wanted Georgie to feel included; after everything he was as much a part of this as any of them, despite his age.

Georgie plopped his hand back down in his lap, looking over at the couch Bill was sitting on. "Ain'cha gonna ask Audra what she thinks 'bout the Turtle?" he insisted, his brown eyes meeting Mike's for a moment.

The librarian flushed and glanced over at Bill wordlessly for permission, which he gave after a long moment of thinking. All eyes turned to Audra, who remained fixated on the bird out the window. She sighed dreamily, her tongue darting out to wet her lips for a second before a single word drifted from her lips. 

".....helps."

Bill jolted and Stan nearly climbed over his lap in his own eagerness to get closer to Audra in case she spoke again. "That's what she said back at the hospital! To me!"

Pale blue eyes slowly drifted away from the window to glance down at the floor in the center of the room.

Bill's eyes widened in joy and he grinned. This was a huge accomplishment, she was now to the point where she could acknowledge people speaking to her. Even if she didn't respond again, just earning her attention was a great leap from yesterday.

Mike smiled, pleased by Audra's continued improvement. "Well, all right then." he remarked softly with a shake of his head, carefully writing Audra's name in under Georgie's. After a long moment of contemplation, he added another name under hers.

_-Mike_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Another ritual...?


	67. Stan's Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan and Bill slip away to talk quietly in the bathroom. Their new enemy takes advantage of Stan's distracted state to cause a little mayhem. Bill isn't amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning guys! Happy 67 chapters! That's not really a significant milestone except that it's a stupid amount of chapters and I can't believe I made it this long lol. ;) Thanks to you all for sticking with me!

After spending the rest of the morning exchanging old stories and encounters with this new enemy, whatever it was, they began to gradually disperse for a break. All of them could agree that too much discussion of this new enemy was just putting them all on edge. Mike and Ben had gone into the new 'guest room' to set up the secondhand bed frame they had gotten at the pawnshop that morning. Richie headed outside to his car, looking thoughtful and smirking to himself.

Eddie unpacked his suitcase (recovered from the back of the Lincoln, still meticulously packed) and washed his dirty clothing, mourning the lack of casual clothes he had brought for a moment. Not much use for a three piece suit when they were all essentially confined to the house. _'Except me, Stan, and Georgie, that's a much more permanent type of confinement-'_ his traitorous mind supplied helpfully, causing him to let a soft whine pass his lips at the very thought. 

They couldn't _leave._ Not ever. The three of them would be trapped forever in this hell, above the body of the child murdering clown. Nobody in the town living there by choice would realize how desperately they wanted to leave.

Hell, even Stan was taking the news better than expected. He had gone incredibly pale, breathing in a low sigh. Eddie saw him mouth his usual few repetitions of _'two isn't enough-'_ under his breath before he had excused himself to take a trip to the bathroom.

Needless to say, Bill had insisted on supervising him. Stan wasn't amused but the author was adamant and evidently so distraught by the thought of Stan killing himself again that he worked himself up into a stuttering frenzy that took nearly forty five minutes of slowly repeating _'he thrusts his fists against the posts'_ with Stan until he could effectively put his foot down. Stan eventually relented but still retreated to the bathroom, this time with Bill instead of alone as he had planned.

Bill was then treated to Stan having a rare meltdown, letting himself feel and express his emotions more freely than he usually did. He sobbed and clung to Bill, his hold tight as if he were afraid of him getting up and flying back to England if he were to loosen his grip. Bill just shushed him gently and pressed a small kiss to the crown of his hair, just being there to help support Stan as best he could.

"Stan, n-no. I-I swear, I wuh-won't leave you here buh-by yourself. Audra's n-not in any st-state to travel ruh-right now anyway." he murmured softly, Stan breathing heavily against his chest.

"Why _wouldn't you?_ I would! If our positions were reversed I would run away and you _know it,_ I'm a fucking coward, I-I always take the _easy_ way out-!" Stan wailed somewhat hysterically, his hands reaching up to tug at his own hair. It was one method of grounding he had discovered when Henry Bowers, aged 10, had grabbed a fistful of his curly locks to shove his face into the snow and rub it in until it bled. Throughout the whole torturous process, Stan remained very lucid, despite being close to tears at the start. Since then, when things became too hard to keep inside, he would tug firmly at a curl or two until he calmed down.

Bill gently removed his hands, smoothing down his hair with a find expression on his face. "H-Hey, n-no damaging the g-goods, Stan."

Stan breathed out a short sigh of annoyance before relaxing miserably against Bill. "That was a Richie level joke, Bill. I'm just wanting you so that you'll know you're rapidly approaching deal breaker levels."

Bill laughed softly, shaking his head. "You're a b-brat."

Stan shook his head and leaned his head back against the cool wallpaper of the bathroom wall behind him. "Takes one to know one."

Bill smiled and stared directly at Stan. He hesitated once, shooting Bill a look of confusion as he wiped his lingering tears away with the palm of his hand. "What are you looking at-? Mmmf-!"

With a surge of almost desperate intensity, Bill leaned in and claimed his lips with his own. Stan's face went red, but he couldn't deny how much he genuinely _wanted to._ He knew now that the Seven were a unique group, and that perhaps maybe none of them would find lasting love outside its ranks. He would always love Patty, but he couldn't have a future with her like he had intended. The future, as long or short as it may be, was all with Bill. _For_ Bill. Even now he thinks somewhat deliriously that perhaps if Bill had called him instead of Mike, he would have braved the journey for him. 

Those warm lips moved gently against his own, and Stan let his arms curl up to gently rest around his lean shoulders. Bill's warm hand gently reached up to cup under his chin and to brush along his jawline, his fingers soft and reverent as they trailed over Stan's pale cool skin.

Stan whimpered softly as a solid knee pressed in between his spread legs, not quite bumping against him but close enough that he could feel his hips buck forward towards him, towards _Bill._ He was straining in his pants, and that was what snapped him out of it.

Stan broke the kiss after a long moment, his hands pressing against Bill's chest firmly as he took a deep, steadying breath. "Wh-whoa, slow down, Bill." he insisted, waiting for his steadily rising blush to dissipate. He didn't meet Bill's eyes, could feel the heat rolling off his cheeks from how close they were sitting. 

Bill pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek and gently moved a few curls out of his eyes. "S-Sorry, Stan, I-I got cuh-carried away..." he murmured sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and looking embarrassed. 

Stan sighed softly and reached out to pull Bill into a hug, his ear pressed against the author's chest as he listened to the gentle _thump thump_ of his heartbeat. "I-It's...it's not that I don't want to, Bill." he whispered softly, his fingers squeezing around the sweatshirt the writer was clad in, fiddling with a loose string absentmindedly. "I...I just...with Audra not able to really consent right now, I don't...I just don't think I can-"

Bill hushed him with a gentle and knowing look. "Shhh....Stan, it's o-okay. I guh-get it. Wuh-We can stop whenever y-you're uncomfortable." He said softly, evidently still concerned about Stan's newfound knowledge that he was trapped in Derry for the time being.

Stan sighed and pulled away, fiddling with the bag of toiletries Mike had bought him that morning and firmly ignoring the full box of razorblades there, instead pulling out a small bottle of cologne that wasn't his usual brand but was passably close. Leave it to Mike Hanlon to have a nose like an actual bloodhound. He sprayed it on gently, wrinkling his nose as the scent was momentarily overpowering. Stan flinched for a moment however, inspecting the bottle curiously to try and figure out why it seemed so familiar to him. It wasn't a brand he knew...

The label read in scratchy, red font 'Bloody Graywater' _(in case of emergency blood pact break glass)_ and in an instant the clear liquid inside of the bottle changed from cologne to murky reddish brown sludge. As the substance settled he gasped, a single blue human eyeball floating to the top of the mess and staring out of the murky fluid at them. It was wrinkled and shriveled as though having been cut beforehand, pus steadily oozing from the center of the slit cornea. 

Stan gasped, disbelief mixed with terror racing through him as the bottle slipped from his fingers and shattered on the bathroom tile, sending shards of glass and what felt like a fountain of gray water onto the ground. 

Stan's eyes widened as the smell filled his nose. For an instant, he was not in Mike's bathroom with Bill, but instead lost alone in the sewers with the Flute Lady hunting him. He could hear the shrill notes of that twice damned instrument echoing around him, along with distant splashes. There was no real way to pinpoint the location of the creature. He turned and then-

_"STAN-!"_

_The thirteen year old screamed in terror as he sprinted through the tunnels, alone and scared. He yelped in pain as something thin and tall and immeasurably strong shoved him backwards. He felt icy cold, bony fingers clinging tightly to his shoulders, his head bouncing off the ground and causing him to let out a soft moan of pain. He stared up into a nightmarish row of teeth, saw her jaw unhinge, felt the needlelike pinpricks of having a monster bite down over his face-_

_It was wet and hot and he couldn't draw a breath with her weight on him, he was squirming and kicking out violently but it wasn't enough._

_It had never had been and Stan knew it all along._

_He became aware that although he was looking into her mouth, he was able to see quite well. There was some sort of light source in the back of her throat, something glowing faintly golden yello...._

_Stan stared, and nothing else mattered._

"Stan-?! Stan!" He became aware of hands on his shoulders, shaking him violently. He jolted out of whatever sort of bizarre nightmare or daydream he had stumbled into, feeling fragile and scared even as he looked into Bill's worried eyes. His hands were both full of shards of bloody glass, as though he had instinctively knelt to pick up the mess even while lost in a memory inside his own head. Bill was gently trying to loosen his grip, wanting to get the shards away before he seriously did some damage to himself.

"I-I need you to breathe. Y-You started...you stuh-started puh-picking up the glass, y-you wouldn't answer m-me-!" Bill murmured gently, managing to uncurl Stan's left hand and hissing in sympathy when he saw a thin cut scraping just above one of the matching scars they all held. Scars they had given to each other with a broken Coke bottle in the summer after defeating It. A promise that meant everything to six of their number.

Stan felt shame wash over him even as he stepped back, careful not to plant his heel into a broken shard. He felt the back of his knees bump the side of the tub and sat down almost gratefully. Bill bustled around him slowly, using an old towel to mop up the worst of the gray water and nudging the glass to one side of the room. 

"Wh-Where's the eye?" Stan breathed, his chest feeling tight and his heart still pounding in his chest.

"I...I d-don't see it." Bill breathed, carefully looking over the ground. After several minutes of raking it over with his eyes, he apologetically turned to get back to cleaning the glass.

Bill kept talking the whole time he cleaned, stuttering horribly throughout but seeming to want to keep Stan's thoughts occupied with anything besides what had just happened. "It's o-okay, Stan, j-just a luh-little accident. I-I got it. Puh-Probably not as g-good as y-you would cluh-clean it but th-that's okay." Using a forgotten broom haniging on a hook in the closet, Bill slowly swept each piece into the dustpan and dumped them in the trash. He then carefully held the filthy towel out at arm's length while dropping it into the washing machine. "L-Let me suh-see your hands-?" He asked tenderly, reaching out in a silent question.

Stan blinked up at him through his curls, their usual crisp coils feeling wild and messy to him at the moment. Trembling, he let his right hand slowly leave his lap so that Bill could lead him to the sink and run warm water over the gash.

"This m-may sting." Bill murmured apologetically, gently rinsing the fresh blood from his palm down the sink. Stan watched numbly as the white porcelain became faintly pink, sudsy bubbles vanishing into the drain and carrying the memory of his own idiocy with them. He flinched in pain, then, as Bill accidentally pressed too hard around the cut and caused a new wave of red to splatter into the water.

"J-Jeez, that...ow. T-Try not to squeeze so hard?" Stan whispered shamefully, resisting the urge to just pull away and do it himself. He knew where the medical supplies were, and would likely do better patching himself up than Bill anyways. But he knew Bill really wanted to prove himself, to prove he was worthy of taking care of not only Stan, but Audra as well. With that knowledge in mind, he held still.

Bill looked anguished at the knowledge he had accidentally hurt Stan worse, carefully reaching for a tube of antibacterial gel that he very gently smeared along the cut on his palm. Instead of a plastic bandage, he chose fabric ones, gently wrapping it around Stan's palm tightly and looking somewhat satisfied. "I-I'm s-sorry if I hurt y-you. O-Other hand? Y-You don't want to get an inf-infec-ection. No telling wh-what w-was in thuh-that water." 

Stan groaned softly at the very idea of all of the bacteria that were found in real grey water and found himself wondering hysterically _'Whose blood was in that?'_ Bill took advantage of his distraction to clean out the other cut and bandage that one as well.

"We need to tell the others about this. If It can come into Mike's house-" Stan began hesitantly.

Bill looked torn. "W-We don't know, we d-don't know anything ab-about It!" he whispered, looking stricken by the thought. The last two times they had knowledge of their enemy and a plan. This time they had neither.

Stan looked down at his bandaged hands and frowned. "We have to figure it out. And something tells me...we might have to spend a little time in the past." He headed for the door, his purpose reinvigorated. Initially the scare had been terrifying and the memories intense. Now Stan was just furious that he had been made a victim so easily and in front of the man he cared for the most. He stomped down the stairs hotly, gathering Eddie (who was flipping through a book Mike had on scenic tourist sights) and Richie (who was tapping his feet to the intro to the Jetsons, which was playing on the TV. Georgie looked equally enthralled.) Beverly he found in the downstairs bathroom, brushing out her long locks and looking irritated with them.

"Everyone, living room? Something else happened and it gave me an idea." Stan said, leaning against the doorframe of the second bedroom and rapping against the wood with his knuckles. Eagle eyed Ben caught sight of the bandages around his fingers and the wet stains on his shirt and frowned. 

"Stan, are you alright? You're hurt." He asked nervously, gesturing to the pale bandages rolled around his palms. Stan glanced down and smirked a bit wryly.

"Bill got a little over enthused with bandages, it's really not that bad. But it gave me an idea for how to find out more about this thing." he explained, determination filling his features. Was he terrified? Yes. The idea of fighting an inter dimensional creature that was actively trying to kill them was nightmare inducing. But the idea of sitting back, trapped in Derry and watching his childhood best friends throw themselves into defeating this new threat while he hunkered and hid in Mike's house was unthinkable. He didn't expect to survive the encounter with the new It, not face to face, but at least now the most feared part of death was over. The actual experience of dying hadn't been nearly as bad as most people feared. Stan was willing to go through it again, if it meant one of his friends would live in return. After all, none of them had asked to die. He had. And if it made him a martyr to go along with this plan fully expecting not to live to see the end? Well, he could handle that. 

Once they were all once again clustered in the living room, he cleared his throat and stood, looking straight at Richie and Mike.

"What would you say if I told you I think we can find out more about this enemy?" he asked. Richie and Mike shared momentary incredulous glances.

"Well, shit, Stanathan, hit me! You got some sort of shady government secrets you wanna share with the class?" Richie demanded, while Mike just looked earnestly at the accountant and nodded.

Next the Jew's eyes turned to Ben. "Remember the old smokehole we made in the clubhouse...? When we all sat around the fire and breathed in the smoke, trying to 'see' stuff like the Native Americans used to?"

Ben furrowed his brow while Eddie wheezed at the very idea. "W-We could have all killed ourselves in there." Eddie rasped with a somewhat disgruntled frown on his lips.

Richie leered and make a kissy face at him from his spot on the couch. "Don't you worry, Spaghetti Man, I'm well versed in mouth to mouth. I'll swoop you off your feet like a blushing bride and carry you off into the sunset." Eddie swatted his thigh and scowled somewhat miserably.

"Yeah, and if you carry me too far out of town, you can just save time and call yourself a pallbearer." Eddie clapped his hand over his lips almost immediately as soon as he finished speaking, looking at Stan and Georgie apologetically. "Sh-Shit, don't listen to me, I-I'm sorry." His own face had grown two shades paler, and Richie clapped his palm over Eddie's knee to quit him from bouncing it nervously. 

"Relax, Eds. Nobody's leavin' anyone behind. Bill ain't leaving Stan or Georgie and I'm sure as hell not leaving you here, so relax. We'll figure it out. We will." And God help him, despite Richie's usually joking manner, Eddie found himself believing him.

"Okay, so the smokehole. What about it?" he asked dryly, crossing his arms over his chest and giving the two taller men a questioning glance. 

Richie blinked as Stan arched an eyebrow at him before the message seemed to sink in. His eyes went wide and he grinned unapologetically, reaching into his pocket to pull out his obnoxious keychain. "I gotcha covered, Stan the Man with a Plan. Ladies and gents, please hold your applause. We're about to take our clown hunting to a whole new level. Best buckle up."


	68. Ascended

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Stan get the idea to recreate the smokehole with a more adult theme.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning lovelies. *^* Hope nobody here is offended by weed usage, because that's a prevalent theme during this and the next chapter. I'll make sure to tag things appropriately and hopefully you all enjoy!

"This is actually the worst idea you've ever had, Richie." Eddie murmured, crossing one leg over the other and his arms over his chest to illustrate his displeasure to his...boyfriend? Friend that allowed snuggles and kisses? What exactly were he and Richie to each other, now? Well, the comedian had called it their 'friendship leveling up', so at least Eddie had somewhat of an idea of where they stood. He watched Richie fumble through the inside of his bag, the sound of glass being tapped by fingernails audible as Richie moved.

"Don't be such a downer, Eds. We all know my worst idea was cheesecake pizza." He teased lightly, dark curls hanging over his eyes as he carefully fidgeted with some other items inside.

"Didn't you get food poisoning and end up barfing on Stan's mom on the way home from his thirteenth birthday party the last time you tried eating it?" Mike asked dryly, arching an eyebrow and warily eyeing the bag Richie kept messing with. He wasn't a librarian for nothing; Mike was sharp and already had an idea where this was going.

"Mmm, Mrs. Uris was a sweetheart about it, too. Even let me stay the night so I could sleep in front of the AC." Richie grinned, shooting Stan a thumbs up. The accountant just shook his head, a wry smile on his face as he remembered a smaller, louder version of Richie insistently placing a slice of pepperoni pizza on top of the celebratory cheesecake and one underneath. He managed to eat more than half of it before his stomach had protested to the summer heat and the bag of popcorn he had eaten previously at the movie theater, leaving him a moaning and sick puddle of Trashmouth in the back of Mrs. Uris's car. When the Losers had all piled out at their respective houses, Stan's mom had gotten out to help Richie get inside his home. Instead he painted the concrete by her feet white and orange with vaguely pizza scented vomit and a low moan of discomfort. Mrs. Uris had sighed and bundled him back up into the car, accurately guessing that Richie's parents wouldn't exactly be doting on him. He had spent the rest of the night sleeping on Stan's couch in the living room in front of the air conditioner. 

Beverly rubbed her temples and glanced around the circle of compatriots somewhat hesitantly. "Are we actually doing this?"

It had been Stan's idea. "We're adults now. The things that worked for us as kids probably won't work for a couple of middle aged fogeys." he pointed out. Mike and Bill looked sheepish, as if hoping their childhood dreams would be enough alone to deter this thing. However, Stan's encounter in the bathroom of Mike's own house didn't bode well. Eddie fidgeted uncomfortably for a second upon Stan telling the whole group about the cologne bottle smashing and the cuts on his palms. Eddie tucked his left hand into his pocket and desperately wished he had chosen flesh colored bandages. Now to bring it up would just make things awkward, so he kept his mouth shut and focused on the incredibly unique idea Stan and Richie had come up with.

The original smokehole inside their clubhouse was long gone now. Ben had even said when they were building it, that he didn't expect it to last more than a couple of years with Derry's frequent rainy seasons and the amount of times the Kenduskeag overflowed in its banks. 

"We have to build a new clubhouse?" Ben asked, looking skeptical. Richie snapped his fingers and grinned.

"Not quite, Haystack, but you're on the right track. No, we learned about the Ritual of Chüd from the smokehole. Stan thinks if we do that again, only with an adult twist, we'll 'see' how to defeat this new It." Richie explained, shifting his weight back.

It was Bill who looked confused now, glancing up from his seat near Audra. "A-An adult tw-twist? Like h-how?"

Richie had just smirked and walked out to his car, rifling around in the trunk for a moment before coming back inside with a small drawstring bag. Once he opened it, the scent inside was enough for Bill to catch on.

"Juh-Georgie, why d-don't you puh-pick out one of M-Mike's movies and go wuh-watch it u-upstairs? Audra will guh-go, too." 

Georgie's eyes lit up. "A movie? Any one I want?" 

Bill's eyelid twitched lightly. "Anything n-not ruh-rated R."

Georgie's fingers twitched longingly towards Mike's copy of Ghostbusters before he gave Bill a curious look. "It's rated pig. Is that okay?"

Bill did a double take while Richie cackled hysterically. "It's r-rated _whuh-what_ , now?"

Georgie pointed intently at the small 'PG' in a box at the bottom of the tape. "It's rated pig!"

Beverly grinned and gently took the film from his hands. "That's 'PG', goofball. It means parental guidance, so as long as an adult watches it with you, it'll be fine."

Georgie stuck his tongue out. "Nooo, Daddy never wants to watch little kid movies and Mommy just falls asleep. No, I don't wanna watch it with m' parents. I wanna watch it with Billy and Audra and Stan."

Bill gave a small smile while Stan looked momentarily taken aback. "Y-You want me to watch it with Bill, Audra, and you? Why?" the accountant asked tentatively, seeming unsure where he fit into that group. Georgie just giggled.

"You're family too, Stanny! C'mon, watch it with us!" The six year old insisted, carrying the tape reverently as though it were the most valuable item in the world.

Stan sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. "We...um. We have to do something real quick, so why don't you and Audra get started and we'll join you in a few minutes?"

Georgie seemed satisfied, so Bill assisted Audra and the boy up the stairs to rig up the VHS tape to work. After about seven minutes he shimmied back down the stairs, expression nervous. "I-I don't kn-know about th-this, you guh-guys." He said hesitantly as Richie pulled out a small baggies filled with a green lush looking substance.

Stan frowned and glanced down at the bag. "I...I don't how how else we can recreate the smokehole without Ben getting access to heavy machinery. This is faster."

Eddie took in a shaky breath, eyeing the marijuana distastefully. "I-I don't even think I can smoke this stuff, you guys, I really don't know-"

Richie reached over to gently slip his arm over Eddie's shoulders, tugging his body closer to his. "Hey, Eds, it's okay. Nobody is gonna make you do anything you don't want to. It's your body, it's your choice." 

Eddie visible relaxed at that reminder, perking up ever so slightly. Of course, then Richie chose to finish with: "If we're being honest, you'd probably be the first one to tap out, anyway."

Eddie whirled on him in an instant, a scowl on his features. "H-Hey! I can do anything I damn well choose, Tozier!"

Beverly smirked and leaned over to flick Richie on the arm. "Yeah, Rich, Eddie wasn't even the first one out last time. It was Stan."

Richie rolled his eyes good naturedly as he ruffled Eddie's hair, earning a exclamation of frustration and a swat to the leg. "That was in the past, Bevvie my love. Eddie's a new man _with_ a new man, so let's see how long he can hold out."

Mike looked hesitant. "I would hate to see this stuff cause another asthma attack." he murmured softly, unsure of how to express his thoughts without offending Eddie.

Eddie frowned seriously, crossing his arms and looking Mike straight in the face. "I don't have asthma. It's all in my head." The tone he used was clearly reminiscent of something he had been told before; perhaps by Mr. Keene, many years prior, or perhaps he had always known. 

Ben frowned and looked over at his friends. "Eddie can join or skip out if he wants to. It's totally up to him." 

Stan swallowed thickly for a moment before speaking. "Actually....remember last time? When we tried to leave Beverly out because she's a girl? We burned one match and pulled for who got to go in and who was staying out as a lookout. At the end all seven matches came up unburned. I think maybe...he _has_ to do it. We all do."

Richie bounced his leg anxiously, seeming unhappy about Eddie's mandatory participation in their little 'smokehole' experiment. "Well...I know a few ways to help Eddie smoke this stuff so he doesn't have to inhale so much smoke. Less harsh on the lungs."

Eddie stood up, stretching out and ignoring the way Richie's eyes seemed to follow him like they were magnetized there. "Well, if we're going to do this, where are we going? Mike's house is too big, it'll just stink like weed in here."

Bill piped up, glancing outside. "Richie's cuh-car? Bev said n-nobody was wuh-watching them in the alley. M-Maybe nobody will watch us, in th-the driveway?"

Mike shook his head adamantly, his voice a firm rumble. "Uh uh, no way. Nobody is getting lit in my driveway at three pm on a Tuesday afternoon. We'll pull Richie's car into the garage. Should be safer. Less people watching and more places to contain the smoke."

Bev seemed to notice some hesitation from a few Losers and spoke up. "Who here has actually gotten high before?"

Mike, Beverly, Richie, and Bill all raised their hands. Ben looked sheepish as he proclaimed: "I usually just have a few drinks to calm down." After a few moments, Stan raised his hand as well, earning a surprised look from most of them.

"Ruh-Really, Stan?" Bill asked incredulously, looking him over in a new light. Stan scoffed and waved his hand.

"Let's just say some accounting firms have some crazy parties to celebrate the end of tax season and leave it at that." he said with a small smirk.

Ben looked sheepish. "So it's just me and Eddie who don't know what we're doing?"

Beverly sidled up to him and leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder. "I'll teach you, Ben. It's not hard, and you can hold a lot of liquor well, so I doubt the smoke will do too much."

Mike cleared his throat and pulled out his notebook again. "We need to set some ground rules before we do this. Last time, Richie almost asphyxiated in the cloud before we got him out. We need a signal that something's gone wrong so the ones who leave the car can pull them if they need fresh air."

Richie looked skeptical. "Micholas, I realize this is Derry and the most insane drug use you've ever seen is Butch Bowers enjoying a blunt full o' ditch weed on a Friday night, but I come from _California._ I've been offered the chance to snort cocaine off of a hooker's taint before. Weed isn't anything in comparison to that."

Stan arched a cool eyebrow at him. "And you said no, right, Richie?" His tone held the slightest hint of warning, and perhaps that was where the source of his discomfort had come from, Richie toying with soft drugs again.

The comedian shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "You know I did."

Stan nodded with a faint smile, looking satisfied with his response. "Good."

Eddie watched this interaction curiously, but unsure how to ask what they were discussing. It may just be another lost memory of his time away from Derry, one the clown had personally removed. 

Ben sighed and got to his feet. "Mike, can you open the garage door? Richie, wanna pull in the convertible and get the top up? We'll all grab some water and head out there."

Beverly smiled teasingly as she followed him into the kitchen to gather seven bottles of water. "Water, Ben?"

He colored defensively. "I-It's good for clearing your throat out-"

She laughed, an innocent, tinkling giggle. "Ben, it's not like the smokehole. It's not that harsh, it doesn't burn so much. But thank you for thinking of us." She smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek and watching as if by magic as a red flush appeared where her lips had been. 

Ben smiled sheepishly and followed Beverly out to the garage. Inside, Richie had pulled in the newly repaired convertible and had put the top up. He had now shifted cross legged in the driver's seat, sprinkling a few nugs of weed into his grinder and getting it ready. Eddie watched this somewhat nervously, his eyes darting to the rather phallic shaped bong in the cup holder.

He really wasn't sure what to do with it but just the shape alone was sort of making him uncomfortable. Eddie knew it shouldn't, not when he was involved with Richie, but there was a definite difference to theoretically being okay with dicks and having a glass one stuck up by his mouth. "Are there. Um. Any with maybe a different shape?" Eddie asked softly, keeping his voice low so only Richie could hear him. Bill and Stan were settled in the back, with Mike squeezed in as well. There was just barely enough room for Beverly and Ben once they joined them in the car. Ben distributed water bottles all around and Beverly made sure all the doors and windows were sealed, keeping the smoke in. If this was going to have any chance of working, they all needed to be fully inside the car.

Richie blinked down at the bong and then looked sheepish. "I, uh. I have an idea for how to get you high without having to puff off it if you don't want to. It, uh. It might be a little uncomfortable, but it'll work."

Eddie blinked, watching as Richie tugged the ground marijuana out of the grinder and began to pack it into the bowl. "What do you mean...?"

Mike cleared his throat and took a sip of water. "Here's what I'm thinking. Richie, turn on the radio. We'll be able to hear the bass thumping outside the garage so if anyone turns off the music, that's a sign for everyone else to come in and pull you out. Fair enough?" He looked at each of the Losers in turn, before glancing over at Richie. "And if you're last again like last time, you better not just sit in here. Get out once we get the info that we need. If anyone has a vision, speak up." 

Everyone looked to Bill as if checking for his approval before they started. He shook his head incredulously. "Cuh-Can't believe I'm doing th-this. Alright, Ruh-Richie, pass the p-pipe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: It's anyone's guess who the last two losers left in the car will be. Feel free to try though! :)


	69. Stoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Losers smoke weed in Richie's car to try and trigger a vision of It. What Ben and Eddie discover is much worse than they ever could have imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning all! Welcome to the second chapter focusing on weed. It has a purpose I promise lol, hopefully you guys enjoy a little bit of protective!Ben, badass!Mike, pokerface!Stan, and stoned!Eddie.

Stan arched an eyebrow as Richie finally finished packing the bowl and inserted it back into the bong. He offered it to Bill first, tugging a purple Bic lighter from his pocket and passing that over as well. "Big Bill, you wanna take the first hit?"

The writer looked somewhat sheepish and glanced down at it. "A-Alright. I just...light it and h-hold it in, ruh-right?"

Stan held the bong on his knee and held up the lighter. "I'll help. Just breathe in, and try not to cough." He flicked the lighter, the item looking very out of place in his long, pale, slender fingers. As he got the pipe into position, Richie flicked on the radio with his thumb and turned it up. The song 'Us and Them' by Pink Floyd crooned through the high end speakers, gentle voices adding to the overall mood given off by the weed.

Stan gently let the tiny flame dance over the grass, Bill obediently breathing in from the mouthpiece. Eddie and Ben watched in fascination as the frosty blue glass of the bong became white from the smoke inside, Stan removing the bowl so that Bill could try to clear the hit. He coughed once, a faint cloud of thick smoke drifting to the roof of the car from between his lips. "O-Okay, I-I don't think I d-did it right..." he breathed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he passed the pipe over to Stan apologetically. He sipped from his water bottle and looked overall like he had either taken too much for his first hit or not cleared the pipe properly.

Stan flicked the lighter and delicately touched his lips to the tip of the bong. Bill's attention rapidly darted to the way Stan's cheeks hollowed out slightly, the man expertly cornering the bowl to leave some of the green for the rest. He passed the pipe to Mike, holding the smoke in for much longer than Bill had before exhaling a cloud upwards. Richie whistled lowly and Bill stared in surprise at Stan.

"I-I didn't kn-know you c-could hold your suh-smoke, Stan." Bill teased lightly, his cheeks growing red partially from embarrassment and partially from the enticing sight of Stan with a phallic shaped object bumping against those pretty pink lips. Stan merely smirked and handed the lighter over to Mike, crossing his arms and looking rather prim and proper despite having just inhaled a huge rip of smoke. 

"There's a lot I can handle that you don't know about, Bill." Stan said shortly, but those who knew him best could tell he was teasing, his lips curling slightly into a grin.

Richie whooped and slung his arm over Eddie's neck, pulling him closer. "Aw, lookit them bonding, Eddie Spaghetti. It's enough to bring you to tears." He sniffed once and sighed in mock sadness. "I'm never gonna get the weed smell outta this car."

Eddie curled into his side, enjoying the close proximity to his friends even despite the rather intense scent that was slowly filling the car. "Buy another one, then."

Richie's long fingers danced over Eddie's side, seeming to linger over the thin band of skin around his middle that went uncovered by the too tight shirt. "Didn't think you liked tight fitting clothes. Where'd you buy this at?"

Eddie scrunched up his nose in confusion as Mike finished a small hit and passed it to Beverly. "I don't, this was one of the only clean shirts in your bag."

Richie frowned in confusion, wondering where on earth he had seen it before. The basketball logo was so familiar, but he couldn't for the life of him place it. "I don't think that would even cover my nips, let alone my stomach. I don't think that's mine."

The song changed to 'When the World Is Running Down...' by The Police, the gentle 'thrum' of the bass soothing Eddie's worry and gradually relaxing Richie as well. Who really cared where the shirt came from, anyways? His long fingers constantly brushed against the smaller man _somewhere._ It was like he literally couldn't keep his hands off of him.

Beverly was softly murmuring to Ben an explanation of how the water pipe worked, lighting the weed and drawing in a large breath. As the white smoke framed around her face and red curls, Ben blinked, looking somewhat stunned that her petite body could successfully contain so much smoke. The scent as it left her breath was heady and dank, a scent not unlike the humidity of the Barrens in summer after a rather rainy spring. It smelled better than he had expected it to. Ignoring the looks of the other Losers, Ben gently leaned forward to kiss her full lips. Bev seemed pleased with it and gave a loopy smile, her fingers handing the bong over to Eddie so they could tangle lovingly in the architect's hair.

Eddie froze as he found himself holding the blue erection shaped bong, sweating nervously down at it. He noticed the faint haze of smoke hanging around their heads, the way that Bill's cheeks had gone as pink as the whites of his eyes. Even without taking a hit, he knew he was already feeling some faint effects. Whether it was as psychosomatic as his asthma or an actual aftereffect from being in the small cabin of the car while five large hits were taken, he didn't know. But he was definitely nervous, shifting uncomfortably in the passenger seat and glancing at the bowl nervously. The green and grey wad of ash and weed looked oddly sinister in the light, and as he raised the lighter to the bowl, his hand was trembling visibly. All he could picture was being back on the kitchen floor gasping for breath, lungs feeling hot and tight and his throat closing up to a pinhole. He didn't want to ruin everything for their new smokehole attempt by losing control, but he couldn't just bail out without even trying...

Right before the flame danced over the weed, Richie's fingers gently pulled the pipe from his own. "Hey, Eds...you trust me, right?"

Eddie scrunched up his nose in confusion, feeling almost like he was being pranked or something. "I-I guess." In reality he probably depended on Richie far too much, relying on him to be a buoy in this terrible ocean that was Derry and It. Richie grinned and lit the bowl, inhaling quickly and expertly. He filled the pipe with thick, copious amounts of white smoke, then as he pulled his lips away from the tip motioned for Eddie to move closer.

Eddie awkwardly slid over the console to settle in Richie's lap, his hands pressed unsurely against his chest as he felt almost silly for doing this in front of all the others. "Wh-What is it-?" He asked, growing flustered even as a blush coiled out over the bridge of his freckled nose. Richie didn't answer, just waved him closer. His long fingers gently curled in Eddie's hair, tugging them closer until their mouths were very nearly touching.

"Inhale." Richie breathed, and then his mouth was pressed gently over Eddie's. The driver let out a small squeak of surprise that faded into a soft moan, breathing in slowly as Richie exhaled the smoke into his lungs. He did it so slowly and gently that it just felt like Eddie was inhaling steam or warm vapor. His lungs didn't offer up so much as a protest, even as he broke the kiss gently to exhale the residual smoke out towards the ceiling. 

"W-Wow..." Eddie whispered softly, already feeling the effects of the drug sweeping through his bloodstream. His thoughts felt hazy and elevated, his body was warm and cozy, and all he honestly wanted to do was curl up against Richie's chest and fall asleep right there in the driver's seat. However, he felt Richie take a second rip and pass the pipe back to Bill, the circle repeating itself.

The pipe slowly made it around the circle again as the haze in the air grew more and more noticeable. Eddie found himself giggling over nothing and watching across the car as Beverly laughed and flopped across Ben's lap to poke Stan in the side. The accountant let out a very out of character whine and swatted at her finger, Bill taking a long swig of water and coughing after his third hit until his fumbling fingers reached out for the door handle.

"T-Tap out, I-I can't-" he wheezed softly, disappearing out of the door and shutting it behind him. The remaining six could hear the garage door open and close and fingered he must now be waiting for either someone else to join him or the music to turn off.

To be honest Bill had lasted longer than they expected him to. Thirty six minutes before anyone left the car was already much longer than anyone had lasted in the smokehoke. Richie kept his grinder working as the hits increased in both size and volume. Beverly was a bit of an expert, having clearly done this or something similar before. Richie likewise kept up with her, matching her rips size for size. Stan was also keeping pace with them incredibly well, although Richie found himself wondering if Stan was actually a master of the poker face and was hiding his slowly decreasing sobriety. Mike and Ben seemed to be falling behind, the librarian looking rather sleepy as he blinked bleary red eyes in their direction.

"I...I think...I think I've had enough, guys. St-" he broke off into a coughing fit that was only quenched by his half empty bottle of water. "Stay safe." With that, Mike left as well.

"And then there were five." Ben remarked softly, his eyes looking the most normal out of all of them. The whites of Eddie's eyes had become a very telling shade of red, his body cuddly and content. He giggled whenever Richie spoke even if it wasn't something funny and waited patiently for him to shotgun another rip into his mouth.

Normally he knew he would be screeching over the germs and the intimacy of such an action; however, stoned Eddie clearly had no time for such concerns. He chuckled against Richie's lips with each hit he took. His body rocked closer until he and Richie were chest to chest, his legs tucked on either side of Richie's waist while ashen tipped fingers pressed more weed into the bowl. "How're... how're you guys holdin' up?" Richie asked after almost an hour had passed. His own head hung slightly forward, his eyes comfortably glazed over even as his left hand gently ran up and down Eddie's back. He seemed to be enjoying having him so close, occasionally prodding him in the side with the glass erection and cackling as Eddie huffed and acted annoyed.

Stan reached out impatiently for the freshly packed bowl, snapping his fingers in Richie's direction when he wasn't fast enough passing the lighter. "Sh...shut up. Y'talk too much." Stan griped before sucking in a deep hit, the bowl still smoldering slightly as he passed it to Ben. The architect traded Stan his bottle of water for the pipe, the taller of the two drinking the entire thing in seconds.

"Oh god. Okay, yeah, remember the whole paranoia part of getting stoned? That's me. I'm that. I-I gotta...just a sec..." Stan trailed off as the bottle slipped from between his fingers and he allowed Beverly and Ben to gently usher him outside. Not only was the interior of the car filled with thick smoke, but the garage itself held a faint misty feel to the air from the few times the door had opened and closed. Stan stood in the garage for a moment, trembling as he could swear he saw a hazy shape in the shadows of Mike's garage _move._ He wasted no time lunging outside, coughing and gasping as he took fresh air into his lungs. Bill and Mike were waiting, the former gently rubbing his back and offering him a new bottle of water. "Ruh-Relax, Stan, y-you did guh-great." Bill comforted him, glancing down at his watch. His own high was fading now, he still felt whimsical but not as out of it as he had when Stan was insistently prodding his lips with the tip of the blue penis shaped bong. 

Mike sighed as he watched the garage door for any sign of anyone else. "I can't believe Eddie has lasted this long. I think he's trying to outstubborn Richie."

Stan scoffed, trying to clear his throat of the taste of marijuana without much luck. "Is that even possible?"

A few moments later to their surprise, Beverly joined them outside. "Richie got the bright idea to show Eddie how to smokestack now that he's not afraid to smoke out of the pipe. Let's just say Eddie evidently needed to relax more than the rest of us."

Inside the car, Ben, Richie, and Eddie had all moved to the backseat of the car to share the remains of the last bowl. Richie's curls fell dangerously low over his eyes, and his grip on the pipe was loosening every so often. Ben finally had to catch it from him before he let it drop to the ground, smiling at the way Eddie was gently trying to keep Richie comfortable. He pressed the occasional kiss to his pulse point and used some of the water from his own bottle to wash the ash and weed from Richie's fingertips and wipe them on his jeans. As the taller man's head lulled into Eddie's shoulder, Ben helped him position the door open enough to lift Richie's gangly limbs outside the car. Richie whined something about 'traitors' and wanting Eddie to come with him, before giggling as he slid out the door and landed on his ass on the floor of the garage.

"S-Sorry Spagheds, h-haven't smoked in awhile, ahaha..." he giggled sheepishly and got sluggishly to his feet, weaving dangerously as he made it to the door. Ben reached across Eddie to shut the door, but the shorter man's eyes widened as he _swore_ he saw a shadow twist into a humanoid shape behind the taller man. 

"R-Richie-!" Eddie cried in fear, before Ben slammed the door and the window obscured the view. He couldn't tell if Richie had left the garage entirely or if he was now hopelessly lost in the smoke outside the car. He turned to Ben with terror on his face, his inebriated state only getting worse without Richie there to ground him. "S-Something was after him, Ben! I-I gotta-" he scrambled for the door but swore when it refused to open. "D-Did you lock it-?"

Ben swallowed once and shook his head. "No." He still held the pipe in his hands and after a moment of indecision, lit the bowl up again.  
Eddie looked at him incredulously for a moment with a long look. 

"A-Are you seriously still smoking right now? We have to-"

Ben gently exhaled another thick cloud and coughed into the bend of his elbow, offering the last hit to Eddie. "We have to get through this. I have a feeling once you finish we're going to see something. Go ahead."

Eddie took a moment to loopily notice how lucid and clearly focused Ben seemed before he gently sighed and took the bong from him. He could almost feel the smoke creeping through his mind, gently wiping his insecurities and anxiety away until he was able to relax. "O-Okay." His fingers took the pipe from Ben, realizing just how murky the interior of the car was with smoke. He couldn't see the front seat clearly, and barely could make out Ben in the smokey haze. "I...I think'm high now." He announced, before gently pressing his mouth to the top of the glass pipe and sucking up the remains of the last bowl. He exhaled with a wheeze, wiping his lips and taking a long sip of water to soothe his parched throat. Eddie was unsure of why he had been so flustered before, everything was fine, he was comfortable and content-

Ben jolted forward. "Did you see that?" He whispered urgently, pointing forward out the front window of the car.

The smoke was curling gently, taking form. Whether that was actually happening or was just an illusion caused by smoking way too much marijuana, Ben didn't know. What he did know was the interior of the car was darkening rapidly, until it was just him and Eddie, nervous panting filling the car and the sound of frantic tapping against glass as the smaller man nervously drummed his nails against the shaft of the pipe.

A light seemed to appear in the corner of Mike's garage.

Eddie let out a soft little whimper as he could vaguely make out the shape of a humanoid figure lurching towards them out of the darkness. It moved like a zombie, shuffling and corpselike, until it was directly between the beams of the convertible's headlights.

Eddie gagged violently as the hellish and rotted out body of Henry Bowers, aged 42, staggered into view. His hair was long and uncut, mold and fungus having taken hold of the thin wispy strands long ago. His mouth hung open rather stupidly despite the deadly glint of intelligence in those eyes; likely caused by dead ligaments gradually stretching and losing elasticity. As Henry stepped closer, they realized the faint dripping and echoey sounds weren't in the garage with them- they were seeing whatever was happening with Bowers' remains in real time.

Eddie would recognize the interior of the sewers anywhere and he clung to Ben's shoulder tightly. "O-Oh God, h-he's _dead-!"_

Ben took in a shaky breath, trying his best to stay calm for Eddie's sake. "He was already dead. Something's wearing him like-" he froze as the creature wearing Henry's skin lumbered forward enough that they could see he was dragging something behind him.

Ben paled considerably.

Being tugged haphazardly by her hair was a little girl, aged approximately seven. She would never celebrate another birthday. 

Her long blonde hair was matted with blood that seemed to be pouring from a tear of the skin at her scalp, the monster wearing a dead man's flesh dragging her through the sewers by her hair. Her jaw had been grotesquely broken, hanging down over her small chest while her tongue lolled out aimlessly. Blood oozed from between her ripped lips, a parody of the lipstick she might have worn to a prom she would never be attending now.

Pennywise seemed to grin as It looked through the smoke directly at them.

_(imagine kiddos going out to play on their own these days its like they never learn do they benny boy)_

The voice was not heard with his ears, but with his mind.

Ben's eyes widened as he stared forward, his hand clenching tightly around the seat and he tried to center himself. _'It's not here, not really, whatever It is, It's in the sewer, not here, not in Mike's garage-'_

Henry's dead face stared at him and grinned, the teeth and smile still remarkably close to the one Ben had been given twenty seven years ago.

_"This is the Kissing Bridge. It's good for two things. Sucking face, and carving names. I wanna make sure you remember my name."_

_"I-I'll remember, Henry, I-I'll remember-!"_

_"How'm I gonna be sure? Let's see, first comes 'H'-"_

Ben remembered agony in his stomach, remembered cold steel cutting through the thin layer of fat and muscle to leave a vicious scar of an 'H' on his stomach that lingered even to this day.

He remembered thinking he was going to die, when Henry punched him in the face. Remembered the world going soft and silent even as Patrick sprayed a can of aerosol above his head and lit it with his cheap lighter. He remembered Victor Criss looking hesitant and Belch looking muscular and dumb. 

He remembered raising his legs and kicking Henry firmly in the stomach and launching himself over the railing. He remembered a blur of green, the snapping of twigs and crunching of leaves as his body plummeted heavily down the hill into the Barrens. His backpack had felt so heavy, and each corner of every library book dug into his fleshiest bits as he fell. But he was away....sort of. Henry and his goons had given chase, and he had been saved by a pack of four mismatched angels who crawled out of a sewer pipe to hide him from the Bower's Gang and fix him up.

Those same friends had stuck with him through thick and thin, up until he had moved away. Yet even then, they invited him back with open arms. In the face of such unconditional love, Ben refused to feel afraid of this puppet. He steeled his jaw and narrowed his eyes.

"Well, Bowers, you've looked better." He remarked casually, ignoring Eddie's expression of incredulity and inwardly feeling victorious as the meat suit that looked like Henry turned to look directly at him. A strip of bloody human flesh jutted out from between his teeth, but that didn't keep the anger off his reanimated features.

"Your _fault._ Almost got 'em. Almost. Left me like _this._ Weak and fleshy and _dead._ But soon. _Soon._ " Bowers hissed, his pus covered yellow eyes drifting into different directions.

Eddie froze as he observed this _vision illusion nightmare_ , unable to tear his eyes away from the body that was being possessed by It. Something had occurred to him, something he doubted he would have been able to understand without spending the past two hours smoking with his friends. "The Ritual...." he breathed softly, a sort of dawning realization washing over him so quickly it almost felt like he was drowning in knowledge. How could they have been so stupid? "B-Ben, oh my God, it's my fault, It is alive and it's my _fault-!"_

Ben turned confused eyes to Eddie even as the creature before them laughed loudly. The chuckle was that of the clown that had cornered them in the Well House. It may be Henry's body, but Ben heavily suspected something much more sinister was lurking just underneath.

"Eddie, what are you saying, y-you're shaking!"

Eddie clutched the sides of Ben's face hysterically, desperation in every line in his face as he begged him to understand. "Ben," he implored, and to the architect's increasing horror those were _tears_ pooling at the corners of his eyes, "I _died._ It was going to kill Bill and Richie, so I tried to attack Pennywise's physical body while they were fighting It mentally. Except when I _died,_ they were _distracted_. They came back _here!"_ His voice was ever increasing in panic, the tenor becoming a rising crescendo throughout the car. "And when they did, they _never mentally defeated It..._ Yeah, you guys took out the body while Pennywise was disoriented and then It didn't have a body to inhabit! But that didn't matter because _It was still alive._ Oh, my God, Ben! The Turtle brought us back because it didn't want Pennywise to possess us! Don't you see? If It uses one of us as a host and recreates Itself, the whole power of the seven thing is fucking _moot!"_

Ben gaped at him, a dawning of understanding rippling across his features. "Oh, Christ." he breathed, eyes darting to the creature in the headlights, visible distantly in the sewers.

Henry laughed and hissed at them, his fingers drenched in the child's blood. "Better once you all _die._ Stan and Eddie have the taaaastiest blood. Haven't had Fatboy blood yet. Sssssoooon."

Ben swallowed thickly, unsure of if Pennywise was making a joke about their deaths or something he didn't know about. Glancing at Eddie, he breathed, "What do we do...?"

Eddie was trembling, eyes narrowing as he stared with desperate loathing at It. "We turn the music off." He lunged for the front seat at the same time that Henry bellowed and lurched _through the smoke,_ his rotten fingers insistently sharpening into massive claws that slashed deep gouges into the paint on the hood. Ben screamed, grabbing a hold of Eddie's ankle to yank him out of danger. Eddie in opposition reached out fumbling fingers to flip the dial off on the radio, right as Henry climbed onto the hood and punched a hole through the windshield. Ben and Eddie both gave an instinctive cry as shards of sharp glass scattered around them; Ben feeling a sharp piece slice a thin line across his cheek. He tugged hard on Eddie to pull him towards the backseat, away from danger, felt sharp claws brush across his face, and then-

-The garage door burst open and Mike stormed inside, a shotgun in his hand. His expression held not a trace of mercy as he took two steps forward to put himself between Pennywise, and Ben and Eddie. He didn't waste time with aiming, merely fired the gun level with It's chest. With a _bang_ that caused an already startled Eddie to tumble from the car into Bill's arms, and a wet sickening _splat,_ most of Henry's upper torso exploded. Thick ropey strands of rotten intestine splattered against the hood of Richie's car and the back wall of Mike's garage, not to mention Mike himself. He grit his teeth and shook his head once to disperse the blood before it could drip into his eyes, still holding his shotgun steady in case Pennywise kept fighting.

But It didn't. 

Instead, It screamed, a long, sick sort of howl of fury and pain, before Henry's shape seemed to vanish back to a foggy outline, which dissipated into smoke. Mike spat in It's general direction angrily, before calmly handing his weapon to Stan and reaching for an old towel. "You were right Richie, and to think, we didn't even need anything as powerful as a machine gun."

Richie stared at him in a slackjawed sort of awe, rubbing the back of his head nervously. "Y-You said it, Mike. And might I add God _damn,_ son! Remind me to stay off your bad side."

Mike finished wiping the excess blood from his face and smiled gently at Richie. "I've only got a good side. Everyone on my bad side is dead."

Beverly broke into frantic giggles behind him, still evidently a bit stoned. "Okay, Mike is the new badass of the group. Stan, you're demoted."

Stan scoffed once and adjusted his grip on the firearm. "I'm literally holding a loaded gun."

Bev rolled her eyes. "You're a walking gun cabinet, enjoy the demotion."

Richie was meanwhile carefully inspecting Eddie for any sign of injury and hissing in sympathy at the few slices along his arms and face, left unprotected by the tight shirt. "S'okay. Mike's got a bunch of medical shit here now, he wants us to be ready for anything short of missing lim- fuck. _Fuck,_ oh my God I'm an asshole, I'm sorry-"

Eddie just rolled his eyes and flicked him with his left hand. "I'm sorry too. Sorry that evidently the couple lifestyle has left you so sensitive after only a half a day that you're now unable to make a single offensive joke. Wow. I'm leaving you."

Richie scooped Eddie up and over his shoulder, earning a howl of protest as his 'prize' kicked and squirmed. Bill rolled his eyes while Stan just carried the gun inside after him, a fond sort of smile on his face. Mike followed as well before freezing, motioning for Beverly and Ben to stay inside while Stan to come over. A neighbor was storming over to him, anger on her features. The woman was likely in her early sixties, her face heavily made up and stern.

"Michael Hanlon! What is the _meaning of this-?_ A deer slug just broke one of my windows! You could have killed one of us!"

Mike froze, realizing abruptly the implications of being covered in blood while firing a gun inside the city limits of Derry during a child murder scare. He could feel every drop of thick gore clinging to his sweater, his skin soaked through with it. He felt simultaneously powerful and nauseous. Stan, praise him, immediately stepped in to smooth things over.

"Ma'am, I'm so sorry for the incident. You see, Mr. Hanlon was gifted this rifle for the local museum's newest display. He was just doing routine maintenance, but the donor left the antique loaded! It mistriggered during the cleaning and nearly blew up Mr. Hanlon's garage. It's harmless now, though." He explained, watching her glance at the gun with mistrust.

"...Who're you?" She asked, crossing her arms over her blouse and eyeing Stan suspiciously. 

He played the part flawlessly, handing Mike the gun and smiling an award winning smile. "Oh, I'm Mr. Hanlon's lawyer. He of course called me immediately, right after phoning the police. I'm here to do a visual inspection so he can file a lawsuit on behalf of the weapon's donor endangering the neighborhood with intentionally donated flawed equipment. Mr. Hanlon of course would like to invite you to file a claim as well, so that as many affected parties as possible can be adequately compensated."

The woman looked a little bit alarmed now, looking past Stan to gaze upon Mike with concern. "Oh, dear. Are you alright, Michael? You could have been killed!" She gently laid a hand on his shoulder, seemingly unaware of the blood that was staining her hand. "I-I'm sorry for my outburst, do I need to call my own lawyer for this?"

Stan shook his head and pulled a notebook from his pocket. "Not at all, ma'am. If you'd like, you can provide me with you contact information and I'll provide you with the necessary forms. Once we go to trial I can either give you further updates on the suit or simply place the check into your bank account upon a final judgement."

The woman looked impressed now, rattling off her particulars to Stan who dutifully took the information down. He smiled and wished her a pleasant morning before strolling across the yard back to Mike's side.

Mike stared at Stan, awe on his face.

Stan leaned over and ran his right hand over Mike's back, smearing blood from his farewell handshake with the neighbor across the driest part of his shirt. 

"I'm promoted." He said confidently, sipping from the bottle of water he took off the step.

Mike shook his head with an incredulous grin on his face. "I'm demoted." He agreed. "So what's next for the group badass?"

Stan hiccuped and giggled once, walking up the porch steps and heading inside. "Doritos and TV. I'm toked as fuck."

Mike's jaw dropped as he realized Stan was still high.

Richie giggled frantically into the palm of his hand. "Oh my God I just heard Stan say he's 'toked as fuck'. I can die happy now. Shit, I don't ever need to smoke weed again, I've seen all I need to see."

Stan flipped him off and darted up the steps.

"Where are you going?" Ben asked curiously as he watched Stan hurry upstairs.

"I've got a Ghostbusters date with Georgie. I don't care what's going on right now, I'm not letting that kid down."


	70. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Eddie are talking about what happened when Richie makes a connection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another short chapter today lovelies, I've caught the flu that's going around in my area lately and I'm not pleased with it. 0/10 would not recommend.

The Losers had once again broken off into small groups, the mood somber as Richie's weed gradually wore off. Eddie had slunk into the guest room and claimed the newly built bed for himself, flopping facefirst onto the new comforter set and dragging the blankets over himself. Richie blinked at Eddie's listless behavior, climbing into the bed as well and just watching him. Eddie didn't sleep, just blinked tired brown eyes up at him and remained cocooned in his self made burrito of blankets while Richie just began to rattle off anything he could think of to keep his mind off of the incident in Eddie's mind.

"So how about Stan taking those crazy rips, eh?"

"Never thought I'd catch Big Bill with a penis shaped pipe in his mouth."

"Can't believe it took this long for Bev and Ben to get together."

Richie sighed blearily as the time gradually ticked by, Eddie remaining mostly unresponsive. He contemplated getting up to go check on everyone else, before a warm hand slowly creeped into his own, out from under the blanket.

"Richie." Eddie whispered, feeling frail all of a sudden. Richie blinked and squeezed Eddie's hand in return, curiosity afire in his eyes.

"What is it, Eds?" The taller man asked, crossing his lanky legs over the other and arching an eyebrow down at him. Of course he was curious about the events that had taken place inside his car once he bailed out. However, hearing the music vanish and Ben and Eddie screaming from within the garage had sent his heart into a tizzy that hadn't slowed until Mike had sent a deer slug through Zombie Bowers' chest. Even though the worst injury Eddie had sustained was a small slice along his arm from broken glass, Richie was very aware of how deadly the encounter with Pennywise could have gone.

Eddie simply squeezed Richie's hand, interlacing their fingers together and giving a soft sigh. His expression was nervous as he spoke. "Richie....it's my fault. All of it. Tom being dead, that little girl, my _wife..._ It's all me."

Richie blinked down at him and squinted, reaching out with his free hand to squish Eddie's cheek between his thumb and forefinger. "Nope," he declared after a second, "No demon clowns here. Just one very cute Spaghetti Man who takes too much responsibility for things that aren't his fault."

Eddie swatted his hand away and sat up quickly, frustration evidently even as he scowled. "R-Richie, this isn't a joke!"

Richie crossed his arms behind his head and let one lanky leg drift over the other, glancing up at Eddie. "I didn't say it was. I'm just sayin' there's no way it's all _your_ fault. You didn't bring Pennywise back to life."

Eddie looked anguished even as he huffed and tugged the blankets up around his neck. "I might as well have. If I hadn't tried to be a fucking hero, I wouldn't have died and you two would have finished Pennywise for good." He bit his lip and exhaled, a shaky, nervous thing that was overshadowed by Richie's low snort. Eddie's head whipped around to face him, confusion alight on his face. "What? What's funny?"

Richie shook his head and reached over to gently tug Eddie into his arms. His grip was gentle but there was a sort of longing there, a desperately restrained feeling that he wanted to squeeze him tight and never let go. "Eds....what you did _mattered._ Saving me and Bill...it made a difference. _You_ made a difference." He implored, one long digit gently tracing slow circles along Eddie's back even as he gave a self depreciating smile. "We were _losing."_

Eddie blinked and his head shot up to look Richie right in the eye, a bit disbelieving. "What...what do you mean?"

Richie shrugged. "Not much to it, Spagheds. Bill started the Ritual, but shit's a lot harder when you're an adult. Not as easy to believe in happy endings. Bill tried to bite down on the tongue, and _missed._ I was the one who got it, but goddamned, even between both of us we were getting our asses kicked. I mean, I guess we were doing something to hurt Pennywise if It was so desperate to kill us with It's physical body, but...if you hadn't done anything, I think...well, you wouldn't be single, but let's just say you wouldn't be dating me unless you're into necrophilia." 

Eddie scrunched up his nose in thought and simultaneous disgust at Richie's analogy. "That's nasty, Richie...." he trailed off as he carefully considered the older man's words. "You....you mean that, don't you? You really think that I helped _save_ you guys? Maybe in the short term, but look what's out there now! Pennywise is alive and even though It doesn't have the same body and the same strength, It is definitely getting stronger quickly. I just don't get _how,_ it's only been a few weeks." He murmured softly under his breath, seeming confused. As he did so, Eddie was unaware of Richie's brown eyes darting over to his left hand and gently picking at the bandaids there. 

"H-Hey! Quit it!" Eddie griped, tugging his hand away and ignoring the imploring look Richie was sending his way. "I...It's just a scratch. Nothing big."

Richie pouted and crossed his arms. "Aw, I just wanted to see. What happened?"

Eddie huffed out a soft sort of sigh and idly drummed his fingers against the headboard, listening to his short nails click softly against the maple wood. "I-I cut myself on a razor in the shower." At Richie's alarmed look he jolted upright, more alert in an instant. "N-Not like that! It was an accident. I was going to borrow Stan's shampoo but a box of razorblades slipped out and I tried to catch them. Stupid mistake, really." He peeled the bandages off and flicked the wad of cotton towards the trash can, wiggling his fingers in front of Richie. "See? Just a cut. Nothing big."

Richie held his boyfriend's hand in front of his nose, eyes scanning over the thin cuts carefully before humming to himself. "Not too bad, I guess. Did they bleed at all?"

Eddie nodded and gently prodded the cut with his free hand, noting the lack of real pain and more of just a sense of discomfort. "A little. I was in the shower, so I tried to wash it all down the drain so nobody got freaked ou- Richie, what is it?"

Richie's brow furrowed and he glanced upwards in alarmed realization. "Blood. It's _blood."_

Eddie scooted a little closer to him, biting his lip in worry at the lack of a direct response to his question. "What do you mean?"

Richie bolted upright into a sitting position, looking to be deep in thought. "Pennywise said some shit to you guys about you and Stan having the tastiest blood. We all thought that mean because you two died....but that's not right, either. Stan hurt himself in the bathroom, Bill said he helped him clean the cuts in the sink-" Richie's thoughts were coming faster and faster now, his mouth moving rapidly to keep up with the output of information. "And where the fuck do you think the pipes lead in this place? The sewer-! The fucking sewer! The fucking clown has been stealing blood from us, one at a time! First you, just a little bit from your cuts, then Stan, and man, he had gashes down his palm that looked pretty deep. Who's next? Why the fuck does It want our blood?" Richie looked incensed, ever angry about a threat towards his closest friends. 

Eddie looked alarmed, sitting up and shoving the blankets down. "What do you think? Blood is a big part of what this thing thrives on. Even if all seven are here, if he gets everyone's blood, I bet some crazy shit goes down."

Richie swore and got to his feet. "We gotta make sure Ben's blood doesn't get washed down the drain! Or else that'll be three out of seven!" Eddie scrambled off the bed, reaching for the door and jogging lightly down the stairs. He heard soft voices and headed towards the living room.


	71. A Hard Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Eddie explain the theory that Pennywise is trying to steal their blood. Stan offers Bills his help bathing Audra when something unexpected happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for such a long wait on this chapter and the fact that it's not very good. I've been having a hard time lately with life. So writing and pretty much anything creative has taken the backseat. Sorry again.

Richie rushed stumbling into the living room, dragging Eddie behind him by his unbroken hand. There they found Bill and Audra curled comfortably around Stan who was sitting back looking amusedly on. Georgie was nearby recounting the whole movie for anyone who hadn't been there, as well as recounting his favorite lines and sound effects in great detail. 

Ben and Bev were watching as well, curled up on the opposite couch and grinning amusedly at Georgie's intense focus on his imitations. Mike was absent from the room, but the downstairs shower was audible from the living room.

Bill looked over curiously as Richie nearly fell down the stairs in his haste to get into the room, Eddie stumbling over his gangly legs and shrieking in irritation as Richie neatly tucked him under one arm to avoid him falling down the stairs. 

"Shake a leg, Eddo, we got shit to do!"

Eddie huffed and elbowed Richie in the side sharply to get him to let go. Once he was back on his own feet, he softly rubbed Richie's side in apology and turned to the rest.

"We might have a problem." he said hesitantly, unsure of how to explain. Bev was clearly sleepy, curled with her knees resting over Ben's lap while he leaned over, a large arm over her pale shoulders gently embracing. Mike wasn't even _here yet;_ clearly having decided to rid his body of the excess remains of Henrywise. Although at the time being blasted with bits of gore from their worst enemy possessing the corpse of their worst _human_ enemy hadn't seemed to phase him; not when Ben and Eddie were in danger. Once things had calmed down, Mike had immediately excused himself, the faint sheen of green over his normally warm cocoa colored cheeks a very telling sign of his imminent nausea. 

Ben seemed alert if not relatively at ease, grinning easily at Georgie's impression the longer it went on. Stan was looking relaxed for once, relatively peaceful curled up against Audra and Bill. He rested his head on Bill's shoulder and his free hand idly squeezed Audra's. His smile grew larger as the occasional vacant stare drifted over to land on their enclasped hands or Bill's easy grip on her knee. Could Eddie really break all of this up for his news?

Richie beat him to it. 

"So, some weird shit's been going down since before we all smoked. Turns out it wasn't just Stan the Man who got cut by a nasty little surprise the clown left." Richie explained, continuing on once he had the room's full attention. "Eds got sliced open in the shower, Stan got cut in the bathroom with that phony cologne trick, who's next?" He pointed a long finger at the bathroom where Mike's shower could still be heard running. "My money's on Mike."

Bill went pale as Stan sat up more alertly. "You think It's hurting us in little when we're by drains, like the bathroom. Why?"

Eddie worried his lip and clenched his hands into nervous fists around the sweatshirt sleeves. He had slung Richie's sweatshirt over the still too small basketball shirt earlier, having been sick of tugging the hem down to hide his tummy. Once he did that, the back would ride up; the shirt seemingly insistent on flashing a pale stripe of skin to anyone who was looking. 

Stan bit his lip in thought as Bill frowned more intensely. "D-Duh-Does it ha-have anything tuh-to do w-with buh-b-blood?"

Richie inclined his head in Bill's direction affirmatively. "Got it in one, Billy Boy. Notice how It left us alone for awhile, then right after we start getting hurt or bleeding, all this activity strikes all at once? Too many things at once to be just a coincidence. I think It gets stronger from blood. Not only that," he glanced over at Eddie for an instant before those brown eyes locked with Bill's, "I think It gets _much_ stronger when it's _our_ blood."

Stan looked up suddenly, frowning. "When I was in the sewers...when I woke up..." he glanced down at his forearm and tugged the sleeve of his shirt up far enough so his faint scars were visible across the pale flesh of his inner forearm. "I was bleeding, for a little bit. Then the cuts healed. And now they're just scars. But Eddie," he looked sharply over at the younger man, expression alarmed, "Eddie woke up in a _massive_ puddle of blood. When he lost his arm, he lost more than just the limb, too..."

Eddie paled and gagged lightly into his palm, glancing away. "Uhgnn...y-yeah, I remember that. I-I woke up in...a-a huge pool of blood. It was so sticky...and _c-cold_ and wet..."

Richie easily laced his arm over Eddie's shoulders and tugged him to his side, nuzzling his nose into his hair and smirking lowly. "It's okay, just calm down, you're fine, you're clean, just breathe, Eds-"

Eddie huffed but gave him a small appreciative smile despite the fact that his mind was racing with all the possible consequences of all that blood having been abandoned in the sewers. "Don't call me 'Eds'. I've told you this a million times."

Richie returned the smile somewhat sadly. "You've even told me for the last time. But turns out there's no escaping me, baby." He punctuated his words with a puckered smooth on the cheek, Eddie giving him a small sigh and a tiny peck back before returning his attention to the others.

Bev sat up and looked more attentive, furrowing her brow in thought. "Well, that damned clown doesn't have Ben's. I wiped the blood from the scratches on his face down with paper towels and threw them in the trash. We can burn them later to make sure it doesn't go anywhere."

Ben gently shifted her legs aside to head to the kitchen. "I'll do that now, hon. No offense, but I'm keeping my blood out of the system for now." Bev just smirked and waved him away, watching as Ben lifted off the garbage lid and fished out the few paper towels she had dampened with water to clean the cuts along his cheek from the broken glass.

Ben glanced up just in time to catch Bev's turtle lighter before it struck him in the face. He flicked it once and to everyone's surprise, the flame burst from the turtle's mouth and enveloped the paper towel easily, engulfing it and reducing it to cinders in a few short seconds. 

Stan darted out of Bill and Audra's hold to retrieve the garbage can before ash could stain Mike's carpet, eyeing Ben for a moment until he looked sufficiently repentant for the near miss. He then gently took Beverly's lighter and inspected it closely. "I thought you said this didn't work anymore?"

Bev shrugged somewhat helplessly and got to her feet, hands slipping into the pockets of her overalls. "It didn't. Richie said he'd bum me some lighter fluid but we never got around to it....thanks, Tom." She muttered the last part under her breath and shrugged again as Stan flicked it and once again a small orange flame came forth. "Promise it didn't work until today."

Stan sighed and passed it back to her. "I believe you." he admitted softly, giving an answering shrug of unsure opinion. 

Georgie huffed and reached up to take it from her grasp, sticky child's fingers brushing against long and slender ones with pale green polish adorning the tips. He flicked it unsuccessfully about six times before gasping as he was successful. The flame shot up even higher than before, flickering madly for a moment before Georgie's small thumb slipped off the button for the butane and the lighter petered out.

The accountant stared in surprise for a second before standing with alarm as something occurred to him suddenly. "Wait, what about Mike?" The accountant darted for the bathroom down the hall, ignoring the confused questions echoing from the living room. 

Stan knocked twice and then stepped into the bathroom, ignoring the surprised yelp Mike gave. "Mike! It's me, listen, Pennywise is stealing our blood, be _careful,_ don't cut yourself on anything! Or if you do, don't let it go down the drain!"

Mike turned the water off, grabbing the towel draped over the stall door and stepping out a second later with it wrapped around his waist. "No bleeding in the drains. Got it. Can I...can I get dressed now, please?" he asked with an embarrassed shake of his head, gesturing towards the neatly folded bundle of clothing resting on the counter by the sink. Stan flushed and took a step back, averting his eyes. 

"S-Sorry to just barge in. I wanted to make sure we didn't make it three out of nin- seven." he corrected himself quickly, looking puzzled for a moment before he continued. "I'll leave you alone, just, just wanted to let you know."

Mike nodded appreciatively. "I know what you're trying to say, and thanks for keeping me in the loop. It's nice to be remembered." he remarked fondly, a soft grin on his features before Stan returned the nod and closed the door behind him. A few minutes later Mike joined them in the living room, clad in a simple pair of jeans and a cotton button up shirt with a red plaid pattern. 

Bill nodded at his arrival. "M-Mike. Y-Y-You're not-"

Mike smiled appreciatively back. "I'm not hurt, Bill, but thanks."

The author sighed in relief and glanced over at Audra. "I huh-had b-buh-been hoping to g-give her a buh-bath soon, but wuh-with all this, I d-don't know..."

Eddie piped up softly. "She could shower? Less chance to accidentally drop something sharp in the water."

Richie nodded in approval of the suggestion while Stan frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. "Didn't you cut yourself taking a shower?"

Eddie pinkened at the reminder and Richie frowned. "Yeah, but he picked up all the razorblades that fell out. Right, Eds? Right!" he declared, without waiting for the shorter man's nod. 

"I-I found all of the ones that fell in the tub. I'm sure of it." Eddie insisted, Stan still giving him an oddly suspicious glance even as Bill led Audra upstairs. Richie squeezed his shoulder and Eddie leaned into the touch almost instinctively, mentally reflecting on the turnaround his life had done over just the past two weeks. Not only had he finally admitted he preferred males over female partners, but he was learning so much about himself just by reuniting with his old friends. A part of him desperately wondered whether or not he would have been an even better, happier person today if none of them had ever departed Derry. Would they all have remained friends? Somehow, he was sure they would have persevered despite the odds of such an unusual friendship forged through the bonds of Loserdom actually surviving into high school. Even though they hadn't gotten that, had been robbed of all the years they could have spent together; as a unit, as a _whole,_ they still had now. They had this moment and each other, for as long or as fleeting as that moment may be.

Bill nodded, satisfied with this response. "O-Okay, Eddie, I-I tuh-trust you. Luh-Let's go, Au-Audra." he murmured to his wife, his arm gently encircling her shoulders even as he carefully led her up the stairs. Mentally he had already decided a bath would be the simplest; allowing her to sit without worrying about slipping and hurting herself. Audra walked somewhat slowly, but less robotically than she had been over the past few days. Her back remained straight and even as she took each step one at a time, sparkling silver toenails winking out from below the hem of the long skirt she was wearing. 

Beverly had gleefully raided her suitcase for clothing that would fit the other woman as soon as Bill had somewhat awkwardly come to her inquiring about the possibility of borrowing some women's clothes. Beverly had luckily been carrying a few pairs of more open, flowing skirts and dresses instead of tighter leggings or blouses that might make Audra uncomfortable. Bill had flushed deep red at the simple white bra on the top of the pile of donated clothes, only for Bev to huff, roll her eyes, and murmur 'boys!' in disbelief under her breath. 

"Trust me, she'll be comfortable without one, but if she starts to come back to herself and wants one, it might give her back some support. Just take it and hang onto it until she shakes this thing, okay?" 

"Y-Yuh-Yeah, Bev...shuh-sure thing..." Bill stuttered out in soft reply, biting his lip as he gently set the bra and flowy fabrics in the bathroom next to the sink and blinked in surprise as he heard a gentle knock on the door. "C-Cuh-Come in-!" he offered up curiously, tilting his head as Stan stepped into the room embarrassedly.

"H-Hey, Bill."

Bill blinked as he furrowed his brow in confusion. "Stan? Wh-What are yuh-yuh-you doing?"

Stan's fingers twitched even as he interlaced them behind his back. He appeared visibly nervous and opened his mouth hesitantly as if to speak, before closing it and fidgeting more. "I...I just...well...I was thinking...maybe it would be easier if..." he trailed off, sounding unsure even as normally confident brown eyes glanced up to lock with Bill's own. Bill offered him an encouraging nod, his forearm still being held onto by Audra for support.

"Stan...? I-It's alright, y-you duh-don't have to be em-em-embarrassed..." Despite his words, Bill's own cheeks went red as he realized what Stan was trying to communicate, to ask if Bill wanted his help. It was a big step, something that Stan wasn't sure if he was even welcome to offer. Bill had seemed sincere in his mention of including Stan in his relationship with Audra, but the younger man was terrified of crossing a line without realizing it and leaving two bridges hopelessly burned behind him.

Bill shook his head to clear it and turned his gaze to Audra. "Stan huh-has a queh-ques...question for you." As his words settled, Audra's gaze slowly drifted up from the floor in front of the tub to Stan's face. The accountant swallowed instinctively, biting his lip and glancing over at her. He had to ask Audra's permission, above Bill's. It didn't matter one iota to Stan if Bill said it was alright...if Audra didn't consent, at least to the best of her ability right now, Stan wouldn't feel comfortable touching her.

"I...Do you...Audra, would you...you mind if I were to help Bill? Help him...give you a bath?" he offered, feeling as small in that instant as he had right before proposing to Patty. Something about this woman, this petite, auburn haired woman who was locked in her head and still commanded so much of Bill's love and respect had struck Stan. He loved her, he supposed, not the same way he loved Bill; however. He loved Bill with a sort of gradual acceptance, the subtle inevitability of their relationship blossoming seeming to be as reliable as a sunflower turning to face the greatest light source. Even as children, their friendship had seemed natural; expected, even. The Stutterer and the Jew. 

Just another pair of Losers. They deserved each other.

When Stan had first laid eyes on Audra Phillips and realized she was Bill's wife, he had felt so out of his league. She was dainty and beautiful and despite her shorter stature, she seemed larger than life. Audra was strikingly lovely, not the traditionally beautiful oversized eyes and pouty lips, but something much more subtle. Not only that, but she was clearly loyal and loved Bill with the same intensity if her mysterious appearance in the United States was any indication. Bill was quite a lucky man to have a woman as beautiful and talented as her on his arm. Stan didn't know how to compete with that, didn't know if he should. He of course didn't realize there was no need to compete for Bill's affections. The man was plenty capable of loving both of his partners equally and for their own merits.

At the time he first realized his childhood crush had _not_ been forgotten as he had hoped, Stan had been worried about Audra as an obstacle or a sort of barrier standing between he and Bill's happy ending. 

But now Audra was here, very much a part of Bill's past and present. Now, Stan had just asked if he could be a part of their future. Together. Not just Bill and Audra or Bill and Stan. Audra _and_ Bill _and_ Stan. The younger man already knew Bill would say yes. The author had his heart set on some sort of arrangement between the wedded couple and the wayward accountant long before this question had been asked.

Audra's lips moved softly as she spoke, a single phrase that seemed very quiet in the bathroom despite the fact that they were all listening to her very closely. It was a term that would feel out of place in a traditional home, but the Losers were so accustomed to hearing Stanley muttering it under his breath in the midst of an anxiety attack that hearing it drop from the lips of someone else caused the seemingly innocuous phrase feel like _more._ It was very telling that of the entire English vernacular, when prompted to offer up a phrase that would simultaneously reassure Stan that she was comfortable with him and also show that she was able to pay attention to details regarding Stan's life, Audra chose the one that she did.

 _"Two isn't enough."_ she whispered, eyes shyly darting from Stan's to Bill's. Her grip on her husband's arm tightened even as he gave a soft little laugh of disbelief and hugged her closer with an eager smile.

"Y-You're ruh-right, Audra. Two _ih-isn't_ enough. I-It never was." He turned to give Stan a soft but approving grin, a contented sort of realization drifting over his features. This was why Audra and he had never quite felt like they were happy in their marriage at first. 

Initially they both noticed the odd sensation of something missing, a sort of ambitious urge to keep improving themselves and each other to make up for the gap in their life. Was it children, and Audra's apparent inability to have them? Or something else?

Upon discussing it, they had theorized that it was some sort of odd feeling caused by two successful young newlyweds coming together and adjusting poorly to the change in marital status. Surely that was understandable; an up and coming young author with two bestsellers to his name by age twenty four, and a well known actress who had a starring role in a big Hollywood film alongside an equally famous muscular hunk by age twenty one didn't seem like they would mesh well at first. 

But now Bill understood.

Bill and Audra hadn't conquered the rocky beginning of their relationship and come out of it stronger. No, they had come together _incompletely,_ missing their frighteningly intelligent and unfailingly proper Stanley Uris that should have made up the third piece of their relationship. Bill knew he had the tendency to retreat inward and bottle things up rather than talk about them; partially a result of his parents' neglect after Georgie's death. Audra was the opposite, she tended to become incensed and tell people immediately what was on her mind, even if it wasn't what you wanted to hear. Between those radically different personality traits, it would have been a welcome boon to have a mediator, Stan, to intervene and keep tempers from boiling over until they could work out their differences. Bill suspected Audra's technique of folding her dirty clothes before they went into the hamper to avoid unnecessary wrinkling would rate high with Stan. Not only that, but Audra had the uncanny ability to tell when Bill sought comfort and when he wanted to be left alone; an ability that Bill himself was completely clueless at doing. Stan could be rather hard to read, so any advantage being able to tell when he was truly wanting to be alone would only make things easier on Audra should she try to comfort Stan in the future. 

Stan blinked in surprise at Audra's words, seeming to have some doubts even as Bill gently rested a warm hand on his shoulder. 

"Y-You huh-heard her, Stan. Tuh-Two isn't enough." Bill remarked, leaning over him to gently turn on the warm water. Stan hummed to himself as the familiar environment of a bathroom and steamy water flowing into the tub made him relax. 

He had always enjoyed the act of getting clean. There was a quiet sort of purity to the motions, to filling a porcelain tub with hot water and sinking into it while soapy bubbles and the faint scent of lavender bath oils rose up around him. Even though the current situation was one he didn't know how to handle, he knew the necessary items required for a nice bath. 

Long pale fingers sought out the cabinet as he pulled out a large, fluffy towel and a clean washcloth. Bill remained vigilant at the side of the tub, fingertips gently resting in the stream of water as he adjusted it to Audra's preferred temperature.

He caught Stan looking and flushed embarrassedly as he tugged his fingers out of the water, the tips pink from the heat. "A-Audra prefuh-fers ruh-really hot buh-baths." he explained, wiping his wet fingers on the leg of his jeans. "I-I luh-like them warm but n-not that huh-hot."

Stan shook his head amusedly and smiled. "I know that, Bill. You haven't changed a bit. I like to mix in different oils for the scents. Hot baths are good for-"

"-luh-long s-soaks with l-lavender scent in h-hot water or short d-dips with the smuh-smell of muh-m-mint in cold water to w-wake you up fuh-faster in the m-mornings." Bill rattled off as if possessing a doctorate in the subject. He paused and blinked in surprise at Stan's incredulous expression. "Whuh-What? I kn-know y-you, tuh-too."

Audra sat perched on the edge of the tub, her willowy legs crossed over the ankles as she watched them converse with no real awareness in her eyes. Despite that, the corner of her mouth twitched upwards slightly to the right at Stan's surprised look and Bill's answering grin.

"Okay, Audra, I-I'm just guh-going to m-move your luh-legs over th-the tub so y-you can stand up." Bill explained slowly, his arm draped over her shoulders gently to help to flip her legs over the edge of the tub. Stan flipped up the spigot to make the bath hold water, his fingers brushing under hot, steaming water as he waited for the tub to fill. As the water lapped up over Audra's toes, she started, giving Bill a surprised look before tentatively allowing her feet to rest in the water. She wiggled her toes curiously for a moment before relaxing and letting Bill carefully slip the long skirt from around her waist to drape gently over the towel rack. Underneath she was clad in a simple pair of pale blue panties, which Bill seemed content to leave on for the duration of the bath. Stan didn't comment, merely waiting patiently for Bill to pass him the shampoo as he kept his gaze dutifully off of her chest out of respect to both her and Bill. Audra allowed herself to be moved so that the back of her head was facing the accountant. The dark auburn locks, now drenched in hot water, flowed down her back like the current of the Kenduskeag in early March. Her hair shimmered lightly as he delicately rolled up the sleeves of his button up; pointedly ignoring his visible scars there, and began to run the shampoo through her hair.

At his side, Bill hummed quietly, letting soap drizzle out of the bottle and onto the washcloth before he lathered it up and began to gently scrub at her shoulders and back. The movie star hummed back at one point, her fingertips toying with a bubble that had drifted out of the tub and popped on her outstretched fingertips with nary a sound.

Stan reached for a small plastic cup sitting on the rack beside the bath, and gently poured the warm bath water over Audra's head. He was very careful to ensure that the water didn't get into her ears or eyes, and once he had successfully rinsed the shampoo away, he was rewarded with the faintest of smiles cast in his direction by the silent woman.

Stan blinked in surprise that she was acknowledging him at all, but gave her a returning nod and a soft smile. "Okay, Bill, you take her left arm and I'll take the right...yep, just like that. Audra? You're going to need to step over the edge of the tub. Can you do that?" Stan asked, glancing curiously over as she raised one foot over the side of the tub. However, as she went to raise her other leg to join the first one, Audra's face clenched up in unexpected pain. The actress made a small noise of surprise, curling away from both of them as her fingertips reached for her left foot.

Imbedded about an inch deep into the meat of her heel was a razor blade, steadily gushing a slow stream of blood that ran down the drain with the disappearing bath water. As the few drops that escaped vanished into the drain, there came a gurgling noise that sounded almost like a laugh in the distance, even as Stan clenched his hands into fists and Bill cursed and lifted his wife into his arms. 

"F-Fuck! Stan, fuh-first aid k-kit, d-downstairs buh-buh-bathroom. H-Hurry!" he insisted, gently wrapping Audra in an oversized bathrobe hanging on the hook next to the shower and trying to block out her scared whimpers of pain from reaching his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Reddie VS Stenbrough


	72. No Exceptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan and Bill, infuriated by Audra's avoidable injury, lash out at the one responsible.
> 
> No, not the clown. 
> 
> Eddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the supportive comments on the last chapter! Things still aren't great but hopefully they will get better soon! ;) Love you guys, hope you enjoy more ANGST~

The rest of the Losers had been playing a lazy game of Monopoly to try and relax after the horrible day they had all shared. Georgie was winning, getting absolutely spoiled by Richie. The comedian preferred to buy single properties without getting the full set, in order to infuriate anyone with the other one or two properties and stopping them from advancing their own monopolies. One round, Beverly and Eddie teamed up to bankrupt Richie by loading their side of the board down with houses and hotels until he rolled a nine and landed on Bev's Electric Company and lost. He gleefully scanned through the instructions and snickered as he triumphantly read aloud the 'House Rules' section, which allowed losing players to gift their remaining unmortgaged properties to a remaining player. Thus how Richie ended up leaving Georgie with nearly fifteen properties and a hotel on Boardwalk and Park Place. 

Georgie's little brown eyes went wide as he surveyed his newfound wealth, rubbing his palms together and letting an eager grin dart over his lips. "I like playin' Monop'ly." he commented with a cheerful grin. Georgie was clad in a pair of overalls over a soft yellow knitted sweater, with Ninja Turtle socks poking out from under the hem of the denim clothes. He wiggled his toes happily as Michelangelo's orange mask seemed to flutter as he did so. "I'm gonna win the game!"

Mike groaned good naturedly and rolled his eyes at Richie. "You could have shared your properties with me, y'know."

Georgie leaned somewhat clumsily across the board, reaching for the dice and being careful not to knock over anyone else's hotels or houses. "That's life, Mikey," he said seriously with all of the belief of a child who had clearly heard that particular saying before, "Life moves pretty fast. Y'don't stop and take a look around once in awhile, you might miss it."

Eddie spat out his drink and coughed twice in disbelief, glancing up as if wondering if he had somehow misheard. Bev blinked once and then dissolved into frantic giggling, leaning her head against Ben's arm as she laughed hysterically.

Mike arched an eyebrow dryly at Richie, who did his best to look innocent.

"Richie," Mike began.

"Yes, Michaelous?" Richie asked cheerfully, crossing his ankles and grinning over at the other man while he flicked his sports car around the board.

Mike cracked a small smile while he tried to remain mostly scolding. "Did you...show Georgie the movie _Ferris Bueller's Day Off?"_

Richie looked deceptively innocent as he shrugged somewhat helplessly. "It's rated pig thirteen!" he defended finally, grinning as Ben snorted with muffled laughter and Eddie shook his head somewhat bemusedly.

The moment was shattered as hurried footsteps could be heard rushing down the stairs; a soft whimpered cry audible from above their heads. Mike tensed up in an instant and got to his feet, Eddie quickly following him as they met Stan, Bill, and Audra at the living room's entrance.

Audra was clinging tightly to Bill, her ankles crossed even as he carried her bridal style into the room. Stan was right by his side, his face a stormy mask of an almost disturbing level of total blankness. The bathrobe Audra wore was a faded gray color; a charcoal-like shade that seemed to make the red trickle of blood dripping down the arch of her heel and off the tips of her petite toes to splatter against the carpet even more visually striking than it already was.

Eddie's eyes widened even as Mike darted around the three to find disinfectant and bandages. The game had been abandoned by this point; Beverly softly distracting Georgie by packing up the pieces while Richie got to his feet curiously and strode over to see what had happened. Audra was pale; even paler than usual, staring past them intently and making soft little mewls of discomfort.

Eddie reached out as if to try and see what was wrong and if he could help, only for Stan to advance on the shorter of the two with fury in his eyes. "You said you picked up every razor blade!" The driver's mouth dropped open in a mix of fear and disbelief, raising his hands up in a passive way. He was clearly taken off guard by the thinly veiled accusation being thrown at him by one of his oldest friends, and was unsure what to say to convince them of his innocence. 

"I-I _did,_ Stan, honest! The box dropped out of your bag and burst open, a-and then I picked up every one of them that fell in the tub..." His tone was slightly unsure, however, mind racing as he desperately tried to remember if he could have possibly missed one somehow during all the confusion. Richie's brow furrowed for a moment as he realized what was going on, and immediately tried to diffuse the situation. He placed a lanky arm around Eddie's shoulders and glanced up at Stan.

"H-Hey, now, Stan the Man, let's just calm down for a damned minute here and try to figure out what-"

Stan cut him off, his anger legendary once finally coaxed out of him. It was certainly present now, and he was holding nothing back as he advanced forwards to prod Richie in the chest with his pointer finger. "Stop trying to cover for him, you weren't even _there!_ You have no idea if he missed one or not! All you have to go on is his word!"

Eddie flinched visibly even as Mike and Ben returned with the first aid kit, seeming to almost shrink inward at the accusation that his lapse of attention could have led to Audra being hurt. "...m-my word used to be enough for you, Stan..." Eddie whispered in faint surprise, seeming hurt and upset despite the way Stan was acting.

Bill was the one who answered, his tone frosty and ice cold. "Eh-Eddie, is it p-possible that you could huh-have missed one of the ruh-razor b-blades?"

Richie scowled as Eddie's eyes dropped to his shoes and got closer to Bill, disbelief coloring his tone. "Are you kidding me? No. _No!_ You don't get to take this out on him! Not when we've _all_ seen the things that damned clown can do! You would honestly rather blame Eds instead of Pennywise? Especially after everything that's happened lately!? Go to hell, Bill!"

Ben glanced up even as he gently lifted Audra's ankle closer to his face so he could examine the gouge. Clever hazel eyes caught a glimpse of silver flashing from between the walls of the cut. Ben shot an uneasy glance at Bill and Stan. "The razor blade is still in there. She drove it really deep by accident...all I have is a pair of pliers, or maybe some tweezers...? I'm worried about causing more damage by removing it..."

The only ones who appeared to be listening to Ben's assessment at all were Mike and Beverly from her place in the living room. Mike gently shifted Audra from Bill's hold into his own once it became apparent that the others were too busy pointing fingers and growing more and more upset to focus on her right now. The woman seemed more worried about her injury than being close to Bill and Stan anyways; thinning her lips slightly with discomfort as Ben's clean and calloused fingertips gently probed around the area of the cut. She didn't shy away from him as she had done with all of the 'strangers' of the house initially, however. Ben kept his touch feather light but even he kept glancing in their direction as if worried the situation would escalate. He heard voices raise into shouting and whirled around, seeing things had indeed gotten worse in an instant. 

The core four were nearly face to face, Stan's eyes alight with indignation. "If he wouldn't have been in such a damned hurry, Audra wouldn't have been hurt!"

Richie's eyes narrowed at the perceived insult towards Eddie and stepped forward to meet it face on, lips twisted into a grimace of disgust as Eddie flushed red with shame. "Oh, so it's _his_ fault that neither you or Bill noticed a fucking inch and a half long silver razor blade sitting at the bottom of the bathtub?!" he demanded incredulously, gesticulating at the two older Losers with frustration coloring his tone.

Stan growled, hands clenching into fists. "We shouldn't _have_ to constantly check for razor blades everywhere!"

Eddie had been nearly shoved behind Richie at this point, and he forced past to speak up in his defense, although his voice shook lightly. "I swear! ...Stan, _Bill! _I picked up every single razor that fell! There were only nine in that box to begin with!" His eyes were wide and pleading for Stan to believe him, disbelief coloring his tone as he realized they would rather believe it was his fault than Pennywise's.__

__Bill looked rather sad at Stan's side, giving Eddie an expression not of anger, but of betrayal. "...Yuh-You suh-said you were _s-sure of it._ That y-you p-picked up every one! I...I _trusted you!_ And now Audra's hurt worse because of _you!"__ _

__Eddie's face fell, recoiling as if he had been struck. Richie grew more incensed, eyes narrowing as he turned to shoot their leader an accusing glare without outrage on his features. "It was a fucking _accident,_ Bill! In case you forgot between trying to suck face with Stan and Audra, there is an actual demonic clown monster possessing a dead body and it is in our shitty little town, people! We don't have time to fight with each other, we need to figure out how the hell we stop more of us from getting hurt!" His pale lips were pink and flushed from his anger, pursing slightly as he crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Bill and Stan._ _

__Stan's frown centered on Eddie once again, something else having clearly just occurred to him. "Why didn't you say something when you cut yourself in the shower?" he asked, suspicion coloring his tone as he raised an eyebrow at the driver. Eddie frowned in confusion, Richie glancing over to shoot Stan a warning look._ _

__"After everything that happened to him just yesterday? You're really gonna ask him why he didn't want to draw attention to an injury, Stanley?" Richie asked with a sneer, two high spots of color visible in his flushed cheeks. He only used Stan's full name when he was really upset with him._ _

__Bill darted his eyes over to Eddie for a response only for Beverly to step between them, a stern expression on her features. "Bill," she interjected, "Audra needs you and Stan to be focusing on _her_ right now. Yelling at Eddie over something that could even be a trick by the clown is just unfair. Don't you see? Pennywise is already trying to drive us apart any way It can! It can't hurt us when we're together, so of course It wants us to split up! Stan, you need to apologize, some of what you said to Eddie was really out of hand." Her pale green eyes locked with Stan's, and she frowned in surprise at how much darkness she saw there. There were bags under his eyes that hadn't been present when he and Bill had returned from the hospital, and it was rather telling that his gargantuan control over his emotions had slipped. He scowled and turned away, saying nothing. _ _

__Bill, meanwhile, bit his lip and slowly relaxed, hackles lowering. He glanced over at one of his oldest friends and saw that Eddie had slowly drifted closer and closer to the front door, looking out of place, alone, and as if he desperately wanted to be anywhere else. A wave of shame washed over Bill and he hesitated, contemplating how to apologize. While swept up in his anger about Audra being hurt and the fact that three of them in total had now lost blood to Pennywise, he had lashed out and probably hurt the shorter man's feelings terribly. Bill glanced over to see Georgie clinging to the Monopoly box and giving Bill a small frown of disapproval. It made his self loathing only grow as he cringed under the scrutiny of the others._ _

__"Eddie, I..."_ _

__".....save it."_ _

Eddie shook his head slowly as if surprised by his own words, stepping back almost hesitantly. Bill blinked in surprise and wondered how two simple words could hurt so much when thrown back in his face. "I...I tried to explain and you didn't _want_ to hear it. I... just...forget about it. It's fine. No, Richie, quit, it's fine. I just need some space. I'm going for a drive." His expression darkened for a moment as he glanced from Bill's shame filled expression to Stan's still flushed face, a small wave of sadness washing over him. Richie gaped and turned from Eddie to Stan and Bill, his hands still raised in incredulity. 

__"A-Are you hearing this? Eds, you can't just-" The lanky man followed Eddie out onto the porch, where the others could faintly hear protests and soft apologies. The silhouette of the taller man appeared pleading as the shorter man shook his head, arms crossed over his chest._ _

__Richie came back in a few minutes later looking defeated and still upset with Stan and Bill. "Eds is going out. He says he doesn't want me there the whole time bitching about how much of a dick Stan was being when he's trying to get his mind off it. Nice one, Stan." he complained somewhat bitterly. It was clear he didn't want any of them off on their own; being a target for Henrywise. Even if Mike _had_ caused him quite a bit of damage during their last encounter, that didn't guarantee they were safe from It for long. Ben glanced up from his place next to Audra, sensing an opportunity to try and smooth the ruffled feathers amongst the other Losers._ _

__"I-I really don't think we have the supplies for this at the house. Do you think Eddie would mind if I rode with him so I could pick up a few things for Audra?" Ben asked, mind racing as he wondered if Eddie had ever gotten to the section on contusions and cuts in the medical textbook from years ago._ _

__Richie looked at him pleadingly. "Would you? I...Eds says it's being clingy and overprotective, but goddamnit..." he trailed off, running a hand through his curly black locks and inwardly feeling grateful that his head injury was slowly healing. "I just...is it really still overprotectivity if there's actually something trying to kill us?" he asked softly, glancing up at Mike, Ben, and Beverly. Audra was being gently shushed by Bill as he lifted her ankle and foot into his lap and gently surveyed the damage, Stan close by as well._ _

__Bev reached out to gently squeeze Richie's shoulder as Ben nodded obligingly and ran up the stairs to grab his coat. He could heard Beverly scolding Stan and Bill faintly, frowning as she also shot down Richie's plan for them all to remain hiding out in Mike's house until they were all healed._ _

__"You might think you're doing the best thing for him, for _us,_ by having us stay here, but...after a while it'll feel stifling. To all of us. Like you're a disobedient dumb little pet or something that has to constantly be told what to do." Beverly's tone was carefully neutral but Richie could hear a grain of disapproval there as well. "We're all under a lot of stress right now, but putting us all under house arrest and pretending the clown will go away by itself is no way to handle anything."_ _

__Bill worried his lip and glanced over, unsure about his welcome being included in the conversation. "Wh-What did you have in m-muh-mind?"_ _

__Bev frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. "We have to decide what we're going to do, if anything. The way I see it? We have two options. One, we all go back into the sewers and kill the clown for good. The other? We all go home...except for Stan, Eddie, and Georgie."_ _

__Richie scowled, clearly not happy with the options before him, but it was Stan who really seemed unhappy. "Who says the clown is our problem? Adults have _never_ cared in Derry before! Why do we _have_ to do anything?" he asked, seeming to honestly want an answer. His curly locks were frazzled and in mild disarray, an obvious change from his usual style, and his pinched expression tightened in desperation._ _

__Mike grimaced at the question and glanced over at Georgie, the young boy still clinging to his game. "For the children, Stan. That's why. Because nobody did anything for us, and look what happened. Who's to say if we were to just leave, that Pennywise wouldn't just go back to business as usual? Sure, some of us would get away, but...could you really walk away from all the children that will be slaughtered as they grow up for years to come? Hell, who's to say another group of Losers won't be born eventually a few years down the line to do what we couldn't?" His face went somber for a moment as he locked eyes with each Loser in turn. "....Who's to say another group of Losers didn't try and fail before us?"_ _

__Luckily by the time Ben had returned, coat over his arm, the Lincoln had yet to leave the driveway. Beverly pressed a short kiss to Ben's lips and whispered, "Be careful," into his ear. He nodded obediently and smiled down at her, before giving Richie and Mike a brief wave. Stan glanced over and inclined his head once, biting his lip and glancing away out of something that looked to resemble regret._ _

__"I...I didn't mean to blame him. I...I _didn't._ Stan whispered, looking somewhat alarmed. "I...I was just so angry and worried about Audra and what this all means that I...I got carried away." He hung his head even as Bill nodded in steady agreement._ _

__Richie 'hmph'ed loudly, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling bitterly. "Whatever." he spat, glancing in the other direction and pointedly not even looking at Stan and Bill. The snub was twice as surprising due to the fact that Richie almost never stopped talking, even when he was mad at someone._ _

__Ben looked worriedly over at Richie, Bill, and Stan, noticing the way the tallest of the three kept his back to the other two and scowled whenever they spoke. This argument wouldn't be as easy to sweep under the rug, especially if he didn't make sure Eddie came back safe and sound. Ben steeled his features and resolved that he had finally had enough of watching his friends be hurt. They would return home safely, on schedule, as planned, no interruptions._ _

__No exceptions._ _

__Ben dared the clown to even try._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Status Update of the Losers:
> 
> Eddie: Inner compass still not working correctly. Broken right arm. Scar along the join of his left arm to his torso, where Pennywise tore his arm off. Two small cuts on his left pointer and middle finger. Stress caused by a marriage to Myra has brought his psychosomatic problems with his inhaler back, although he doesn't have access to one at the moment.
> 
> Stan: Scars along his inner forearms from the injuries that took his life. Two cuts along his palms from the broken glass from the cologne bottle. He struggles with severe OCD.
> 
> Beverly: Sprained right wrist in a brace and heavy bruising along her nose and cheekbones. She has lingering scabbing on the back of her head from being slammed back against a brick wall. Survivor of two abusive relationships.
> 
> Richie: Lingering remnants of a concussion, scabbing on the back of his head, bruising along his cheek and lip from being kicked by Tom. Two cracked ribs and the current inability to wear his contacts without them stinging his eyes and burning, before vanishing. Has discovered if he mimics a Voice he can 'see' the owner and what they are doing. However, the action exhausts both Richie and the Voice's owner.
> 
> Bill: Bill is unharmed...for now.
> 
> Georgie: Georgie has a similar scar to Eddie's along his right arm. Other than that, he is unharmed...for now. 
> 
> Mike: A healing stab wound from Henry's knife. (90's miniseries/book) 
> 
> Ben: Scratches along his face from Henrywise's claws and the broken glass from the windshield.
> 
> Audra: Mentally absent due to being lost in the deadlights. Large cut in heel of her left foot from stepping on a mysterious razor blade.
> 
> Group Inventory:
> 
> Eddie's First-Aid Kit  
> Richie's Penis Bong  
> Mike's Shotgun  
> Beverly's Turtle Lighter  
> Georgie's five toys, one book, and three bath toys  
> Mysterious Inhaler  
> Mysterious Too-Small Tee Shirt  
> The Lincoln  
> The Convertible  
> Mike's House  
> Suitcase Contents (Everyone's)
> 
> Relationship Status:  
> Mike- Single  
> Richie/Eddie- Dating  
> Stan/Audra/Bill- Dating/Adjusting  
> Ben/Beverly- Dating  
> Pennywise- Single  
> Henry Bowers/Flute Lady- Joined Union


	73. Losers, Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben rides with Eddie through the streets of Derry and tries to get to the root of the problem. He remembers a story Stan once told him about how he and Bill met Eddie two weeks after kindergarten started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kind words in the comments guys, it truly means a lot to me! I'll continue to write for as long as it brings me joy, so hopefully for a good, long while. ;)

The Lincoln may have only contained two people but the elephant was taking up quite a bit of space on its own, too.

Ben fidgeted a bit, unsure of what to say as he glanced over from his place in the passenger seat. Eddie's jaw was set in a firm scowl, fingers clenched around the wheel of the car hard enough that his knuckles had gone white. He didn't seem like he was very interested in talking at that moment. 

Ben drummed his fingers along his knee as he watched buildings pass by out the window; marveling at the fact that he would spy a house, vaguely remember it, suddenly gain amazing clarity on whose home it had been, and then forget all about it ever existing as it drifted out of sight, over and over again. It was dizzying and intense, and made him wonder if things would ever truly be 'normal' in Derry. 

Clever hazel eyes scanned over Main Street as they flew by; noticing with impunity the amount of closed businesses on the street. Surely with children being murdered, people would pack up and desert the town altogether? However, that appeared to not be the case. The whole street had only one 'For Sale' sign in sight, plastered up against a dirty window on a small and worn looking brick building. 

Ben gave a small sigh, stomach curling as he spotted a few neighborhood kids giggling and riding their bikes over the drain grate set in the gutter. As one of them passed, their bike wobbled dangerously before they steadied it and continued onward. Ben tore his eyes away from the exterior of Derry; the past and future inexplicably colliding with each other. It was giving the architect a vague feeling of dread. He turned them to Eddie, watching the wind from the open window tousle a few stray brown locks, his eyes narrowed and mouth set into a thin line. He seemed to be lost in his thoughts; despite that, he still drove effortlessly through the streets of their tiny town.

Finally, Ben decided to say something to him. "Eddie...?" he began somewhat tentatively, trying to accurately gauge how receptive the man would be to discussing what had just happened back at Mike's place. 

Eddie's eyes darted over to him for a split second before returning to the road. "...I'm fine." he insisted with a low huff, lips pursing. 

Ben frowned and let his fingers drum lightly against the leather of the seat. He knew that back at Mike's, Beverly was likely trying to soothe hurt feelings and calm everyone down in preparation for Eddie to come back. He would love nothing more than to bring the driver back later, safe and sound, so Bill, Stan, and Richie could all work this situation out, but he knew that if they returned home right now it would likely just dissolve into another screaming match.

He decided to try again. "It's okay to not be, you know..." he offered gently, trying to not sound patronizing or pitying. If it was one thing he knew about Eddie, it was that he _hated_ being treated as weak or less capable than the others; whether that be due to an imaginary case of asthma or being quite literally brought back from the dead. Trying to assure him that the situation hadn't been his fault was useless when Eddie already knew that full well. 

Stormy brown eyes flicked in his direction once before Eddie sighed, a bit of the tension leaving his shoulders. His back relaxed into the seat a bit more and he finally stopped frowning so intently. "I...Ben, you don't have to do this. It's fine, _I'm_ fine, let's just change the subject."

Ben contemplated agreeing and doing just that, but something didn't seem right. Pondering his options for a moment, Ben spoke up again. "Have you and Stan ever gotten into a fight before?"

Eddie shrugged once, his tone a bit too casual as he spoke. "W-Well, yeah, of course. I mean, kids get into arguments over all kinds of stupid things, right? Y-Yeah, Stan and I have had a few disagreements before." To a less observant person, the slight crack in Eddie's voice would have merely been a tickle or a coincidence. Ben was plenty observant enough to notice.

He nodded as he listened and waited a few moments before asking his next question, watching Eddie's fingers still tightly gripping the steering wheel. He kept his tone light and subtle despite the fact he was pretty sure he was onto the true reason behind Eddie's bruised feelings. 

".....what about Bill? You ever fought with him before?"

The car veered sharply for a split second before Eddie corrected, shooting Ben an incredulous look. "B-Bill? I-I...of course. Loads of times." he stammered, eyes darting away from Ben's line of sight as he turned down a side street to the less populated part of town.

Ben didn't need to be a mind reader to tell that was a lie. 

It was clear the younger man admired and looked up to Bill. They all did, but there was something different with Eddie. Perhaps it was because those two had been friends for ages, meeting Bill and Stan only two weeks after those two had their encounter on the playground in kindergarten. 

A dawning sort of realization was washing over him as he thought back to when they were kids. Even during the Summer of It, when Ben had been a fresh faced new kid on the block, he had noticed the almost hero worship Eddie had towards Bill. Stan had been the one to tell him the story of Eddie's first day of public school.

_Eddie had been sent to school two weeks late after Sonia had doctors run several tests to make sure his immune system could handle being in a building filled with other disease carrying children. Apparently her concerns had been quashed enough by the doctors to allow him to go, or she had been unwilling to argue with the school about how many days he could miss and still move ahead to the next grade the following year. However, she had insisted if things went poorly on the first day she would simply homeschool him._

_Of course, Eddie was very small, even for a five and a half year old, and had been sent to school with an oversized digital watch on his left wrist and a bright yellow fanny pack snapped around his tiny waist. The fanny pack was obviously designed for an adult, as it hung loosely despite having been tightened as much as the strap would allow. Every thirty minutes it seemed, his watch would beep and the boy would fumble out a pill bottle and shake an assortment of multicolored medicines into his palm. The other kids whispered and mocked him in the hallways, giggling jokes about 'the walking quarantine' and hissing, "Loser," when he made his way from his class to the bathroom or lunch._

_Eddie's shoulders had gradually begun to slump as he kept walking, but it was obvious he didn't know what to do or say around the other children. As an only child who had spent many more afternoons inside on bedrest than not, he was unused to other children and was unsure how to act to be accepted. All he knew is that for whatever reason, he was doing it _wrong.__

_A much younger Henry Bowers had laughed as he saw Eddie coming and tripped him, sending the boy crashing to the floor and his fanny pack to burst open. Pills, bandages, and a few tiny bottles of hand sanitizer scattered across the floor, a few items being carelessly stepped on by the hoard of kindergarteners having just been released to recess. Eddie frantically scrambled to pick up what he could, breath quivering and tears of shame prickling at the corners of his eyes. He heard the boy who had pushed him laugh and shove him back down to the floor as he walked past._

_"Better pick up the mess you made." Henry laughed, miming wiping tears from his eyes and smirking as he continued out the doors to the playground._

_Excited children raced past him, either kicking or scattering the contents of the fanny pack further down the hallway or bumping into him where he hurried along the ground. His fingers trembled and fumbled things as his distress grew. Already he could feel his throat closing up and his breaths growing shorter and shorter, like a vice was being tightened around his lungs until they had no room for something like oxygen. He could feel tears burning at the corners of his eyes and wiped them away irritably with the back of his hand, feeling the handful of dirty pills stick slightly to his sweaty palm. His lower lip quivered seemingly against his will until he clamped it between his teeth, flinching violently as a hand was thrust palm up into his field of view._

_His eyes followed the hand up to a skinny wrist, eyes skipping up over the boy's shoulder to look at his face. There were two of them, he realized somewhat distantly as he hurriedly scrubbed his tears away and turned back to the floor, fingertips seeking out his lost medications. "Y-You're going to be...be late for recess if you don't hurry." he murmured in a small voice. He didn't want pity. He wanted to be normal._

_The boy glanced over at his companion for a second; a tall for his age and rather well put together kid wearing a button down shirt, nicely pressed slacks, and polished dress shoes. Eddie noted the odd fabric disk he had carefully pinned over his curls and blinked, wondering if he knew that the other kids probably mocked it behind his back. Judging by his pursed lips and flat expression, he wouldn't care even if they did._

_The first boy was as much the other's opposite as possible. He was wearing a pair of jorts that had been seemingly cut off with a pair of scissors, revealing knobbly knees bearing the occasionally scuff and scab. He wore a simple baseball shirt and his auburn hair was parted to one side, revealing large, bright blue eyes. They were kind; seeming to stare straight to the heart of the issue even as he offered his hand again._

_"W-Wuh-We don't want t-tuh-to play with thuh-those meatheads, d-do we, Stan? W-We'd rather puh-play with you. I-If you...if you wuh-want to." the first boy stammered softly but confidently, even as he seemed to realize Eddie was too worked up to take his hand. He knelt down and began to carefully pick up pills as well, frowning slightly as one tiny pink one crumbled to dust from being crushed under someone's heel. "O-Oh. Suh-Sorry, about th-that. I d-didn't know th-they would break..."_

_Eddie blinked in awe as this boy easily brought himself down to his level; picking up his lost possessions without even the slightest hint of annoyance or charity in the action. He wasn't doing it because Eddie was fragile or delicate or unable to do it himself._

_He was doing it because he could, and because he was there._

_How many other children had just rushed on by?_

_Eddie stared up at this boy with confusion on his small face, wanting to understand why. So, as his mother had told him frequently to _stop_ doing so much...he asked._

_"Wh...why would you two want to play with me? I...I'm a loser. Everyone says so." he tried to keep his tone light but it cracked in the middle, an obvious representation of the pain he felt at being considered 'different'._

_The second boy knelt as well, carefully placing his knees only on clean patches of floor. His touch was delicate and sure as he plucked each pill from the linoleum floor and placed them into a broken pill bottle._

_"Because..."_

_Bill glanced over from his crouched position with a faintly knowing smile, a sad sort of camaraderie in it all the same. Stan, reaffirmed, turned back to Eddie who was watching them both with a sort of earnest desperation._

_".....we're both losers, too."_


	74. And He Did It All For Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Georgie and Mike bond in the kitchen for a bit. Beverly ponders where Richie has gone off to, and is very unhappy with what she finds he has done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Sorry it's been awhile, life has been hectic. Hope you enjoy the latest adventures of Richie Doing Things That Are Inadvisable At Best.™

"Now I'm going to lift you up so you can reach, okay, Georgie? Ready?"

"Yeah, I got 'em, Mike!" Georgie said with a giggle, holding up a box of frozen garlic bread that had been half unwrapped.

Mike gently lifted the boy so he could reach the stovetop and watched as Georgie's small fingers delicately lifted each precut slice and set them cheese side up on the pan. He counted out eight slices, all that came in the box, before giving Mike a glum look.

"What if Eddie and Ben come back and they want some, too? There isn't enough for all of us." Georgie pointed out, rocking on his toes as soon as Mike set him back down again.

Mike hummed in thought and glanced over at Stan. His cheeks were flushed pink with shame over his surprising outburst. The librarian knew Stan typically didn't like to eat anything after such an outburst; he had experienced them before occasionally when changing dosage or prescription for his OCD. Mike knew that; all the Losers did. He just _didn't_ know how to explain that to a child.

"Well, Georgie..." Mike began, only for Bill to speak up softly from the couch.

"I-I'll shuh-share mine w-with Audra. Thuh-Then everyone g-gets some. Is th-that okay, Juh-Georgie?" the author asked, seeming apologetic. Georgie was furious with him for his part in driving Eddie away. Whether Audra was hurt or not was irrelevant to the boy. In his eyes, Bill had commuted the ultimate betrayal by blaming his friend for something he hadn't done.

Georgie just turned up his nose and stepped back so Mike could place the pan into the oven. Bill sighed somewhat dejectedly and was surprised when Audra's pinkie gently interlaced with his own where it rested in his lap. He jolted and relaxed upon realizing it was her, and smiled softly even as her distant gaze stared out the window yet again. She seemed to enjoy Mike's bird feeder and all the wildlife it attracted. 

Mike set the timer and crossed his arms over his chest, glancing over to where Beverly sat perched at the kitchen counter. She was drumming her fingernails against the faux wood countertop and was staring adamantly at the phone, as if daring it to ring.

Mike looked over at her and gave a somewhat weary sigh. "I think they'll be okay, Bev." he admitted. "After what I did to Pennywise, I think It will need some more time...and more blood, to become strong again. Although...I do think that possibly It had something to do with Bill and Stan's outburst. Clearly It was responsible for Audra's injury..." he trailed off as his theory only seemed to make Bev grow antsier. 

She turned her attention away from the tempting stare of the phone; realizing there wasn't a way for Ben or Eddie to call her unless they stopped driving at some point. In which case something must have gone _wrong._ She violently tore her thoughts away from that topic and strode into the living room. Beverly didn't cast so much as a second glance in Bill or Stan's direction; livid that they had actually driven Eddie (and by extension, _Ben_ ) out of the house after what had been happening to them. 

She had vowed to keep her remaining boys alive; the fact that she had regained two of them and a littler boy didn't change the fact that she wanted them all to remain safe. Stan and Bill were getting in the way of that and it made her absolutely enraged. 

It didn't help that Richie had seemingly all but vanished into thin air. The normally hyperactive and loud comedian made it a point to command the utter attention of everyone in the room, so to have him be-

_(mIsSiNg)_

_-absent,_ was rather jarring. She moved down the side hallway with a purpose; eyes flicking from room to room as she pondered where he could be.

She found him stumbling out of the upstairs bedroom looking vaguely dazed, with a thin trickle of blood running from his nose. His eyes glanced up abruptly at her sudden arrival, looking somewhat shaken. "B..Bev? Hey...what's crackin', lip smacki-"

Beverly cut him off incredulously, swiping the blood from under his nose with her thumb. "What the _fuck,_ Richard!? What happened?" 

And as he gazed down at her sheepishly and somewhat guiltily, it clicked.

"You _idiot,_ you did the Voice of It again, didn't you-?!" She couldn't believe this. After all the horrible results of last time, and that was with Stan and Bill desperately holding him back while he was possessed by the clown. What on earth was he thinking, doing it a second time, and _without_ anyone there to keep him safe? "Don't you know how _dangerous_ that wa-" 

This time it was Richie cutting her off, a fingertip upon her lip and a gesture to step into the bedroom. "You'd do the same, you _would; _you're the only one with the same thing at stake that I do." he insisted, and that was when Beverly realized. She carefully wiped Richie's blood on a tissue and wadded it into a ball. She flicked it at him to mop up the excess and to burn as soon as the nosebleed had stopped.__

__Suddenly she had the desperate intensity to have an ability like Richie's, beyond just the ability to aim well with a slingshot. "Is It alive? What is going on? Pennywise isn't hunting them is It-?"_ _

__Richie shook his head and looked over, his smile somewhat happy despite his admittedly stupid decision. "It's hurting. Henry's body is falling apart and It doesn't have the strength to repair him anymore, not without blood. When I looked at where Pennywise was, It was hunkered in a sewer drain nibbling on old limbs It has stored down there. I don't think we're out of the woods yet, but I do think Mike going Rambo on the fucker bought us a little time. They're probably safer going out right now then they would be any other time; and hell, Eds really needed to blow off some steam."_ _

__Beverly relaxed, her hands falling from where they had been tightly and insistently gripping Richie's shoulders to his chest, exhaling in relief. "Oh, thank God. They...they'll be safe, then. They'll...they'll come _home."__ _

__Richie was struck then by the reminder that Beverly's abused mother had run out on both her husband and daughter, leaving Bev alone with a monster. It was no wonder she was terrified of a loved one leaving without warning and not knowing when or if they'll ever see them again._ _

__"He'll come back to you, Bevvie. And Eds is gonna come back to me. It'll be fine." Richie said, unintentionally dropping into a lower tone. It wasn't a voice, not one he had ever created or named. No, it was just Richie Tozier speaking softly, trying to calm down and reassure his best female friend in a way his usual volume and tone just wouldn't allow for. "And then we'll give Bill a fucking purple nurple and Stanley gets an atomic wedgie. Done. All is forgiven after that."_ _

__Beverly scoffed but couldn't stifle a smile. "I'll hold his arms." she teased, passing over her turtle lighter. "Now torch that sucker before you make us have lost four out of seven."_ _

__Richie smirked and flicked his thumb over the lighter, watching his blood and tissue go up into ashes. It crumbled to nothingness soon after, and Richie idly flicked a few ashes off his fingertips with distaste._ _

__They were still ahead._ _

__They still had an advantage._ _

_(foR NOw)_


	75. Stanley Uris Takes A Nap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan excuses himself to the bedroom to try and work through his feelings of regret and guilt for the way he and Bill treated Eddie and Richie.
> 
> He receives an unwelcome visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, sorry for posting this so late! (10pm CST) but I couldn't wait to post it until tomorrow. ;) The next chapter is already in the works, and feel free to take a complimentary baseball bat and break my shins for the cliffhanger.

Stan couldn't stop fidgeting.

He couldn't help it, really. It was just one of the many annoying side effects of his OCD. He had excused himself from the others and was now upstairs in the bedroom, sitting at the end of the bed and shaking lightly. His fingers kept insistently adjusting his sleeves, making sure they were pressed cleanly and the seam aligned the way he wanted it to. However, even the lightest brush of his fingertips or the gentle feeling of his cotton shirt brushing against his scars caused a feeling like fire ants were racing around under his skin. His nails, trimmed immaculately, scraped and tugged at the fabric somewhat madly, seeming to be lost in thought.

Stan just couldn't figure out what had just happened. One minute things had been totally fine. Sure, Eddie and Stan had both had their blood stolen by the clown for reasons they had yet to uncover. It was terrifying and all nine of them were somewhat cooped up inside Mike's house waiting for the other shoe to drop. They were all under a lot of stress to be sure... but upon mentally reviewing everything he'd said to Eddie, what _Bill_ had said... and the look of betrayal and anguish on the younger man's features that those venomous words had caused?

It made him feel incredibly guilty. 

Stan pinched at the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. He needed to calm down. For a man who prided himself on his ability to control his own emotions, the way he had acted in front of Bill, Richie, and Eddie was completely unacceptable. It was hard to remember just what had been said during the heat of the moment, but if the vague snippets he could remember hurling at Eddie and Richie were any indication, he had been downright cruel. 

_"You said you picked up every razor blade!"_

_"Stop trying to cover for him, you weren't even **there!** You have no idea if he missed one or not! All you have to go on is his word!"_

_"If he wouldn't have been in such a damned hurry, Audra wouldn't have been hurt!"_

Shame washed over him as he realized exactly how harsh it was for him to blame Eddie for Audra's injury when they all knew the clown was still out there. Waiting. And Richie, the most jovial and joking member of the Loser's Club, had tried to point that out to him without any success. Stan's brow furrowed intently as he tried to think of why he had been so angry. Yes, he was upset Audra was hurt, but that didn't mean it was fair for him to take it out on Eddie. Bill had been just as angry as Stan...and yet he had managed to stay mostly in control of himself. His words were harsh but he hadn't been trembling with rage like Stan had been. In fact, in stark contrast to their usual personalities; Bill had stayed calmer and Stan had been the one lost to a cloud of anger. 

Hmm.

_"...m-my word used to be enough for you, Stan..."_ he heard Eddie whisper a second time, just as brokenly as the first. He didn't want to hear it again. But it just kept replaying in his mind. Over and over. Stan let his hands, now slightly damp from the sweat and nervousness racing through him, reach up to cover his eyes.

"St...stop it." he breathed, a light and wavering shudder audible that he hadn't wanted anyone to pick up on, not even the ghost of a friend still alive.

His mind was racing now, not slowing as he had hoped. This small retreat from the others was supposed to give him a chance to get control of himself; to smother and suppress all these feelings of shame, guilt, and regret. 

Instead of slipping away to put himself back together, it seemed now he had just retreated to hide. 

Like a scared little boy, running from the dead things in the dark that couldn't be hidden beneath memories of childhood or beaten back by time. 

_"...m-my word used to be enough for you, Stan..."_ Eddie repeated softly, brokenly in his head like a cassette stuck on the same track, over and over. 

And endless mantra of shame that only he could hear.

"Shut up, shut _up!"_ Stan choked out to the memory of Eddie, clenching his hands in his hair. Light brown curls fisted in his squeezed hands, tugging and yanking as if trying to physically pull the voice from his head. He didn't want to hear this. Not again. Not anymore. He couldn't take it-! Stan's mind raced as he tried to remember the last time he had taken his medication, coming up disturbingly blank. It had been at least a few days, it was no wonder he was starting to crack, hearing voices, losing control of his emotions...

_"...m-my word used to be enough for you, Stan..."_ Except now instead of being the slightly shaken tenor, the firm but somewhat nervous and very obviously a man's voice seemed to be simultaneously rising in pitch and lowering in volume until it was a very different voice.

A little boy's voice.

Or more accurately, Eddie, at age twelve.

Even now Stan could have sworn the younger version of his friend, destroyed by time and their lost and shattered memories, was right there in the room with him.

He was wearing the same old pink polo shirt and short red biking shorts that he always used to, combined with that same black fanny pack and white socks with blue trim around the band. Those very socks had been tugged up underneath skinny knees, muddy converse tied meticulously but still stained with twenty seven year old dirt from adventures in the Barrens with his friends.

...Or perhaps it was the sewage they would eventually end up soaked in. 

_"...m-my word used to be enough for you, Stan..."_ The smaller Eddie bit his lip, his sparking chestnut eyes glistening with tears. His arm remained forever broken, wrapped in an old fashioned white cast with the word 'Loser' emblazoned upon it in red. Stan couldn't remember now if it was from the red sharpie Richie kept in his room or if it was blood. 

_He couldn't remember._

His lips felt rubbery, almost non responsive as he choked out a frantic and desperate reply. "I-It _is enough,_ it always _h-has_ been- just, fuck, Eddie, I-I'm _sorry!"_

Icy cold fingers tilted his head up from where it had fallen against his chest and Stan found himself looking up into an impossibly younger version of Eddie's face. He shivered, breaths coming in as scared, quick gasps as he allowed himself to meet the boy's eyes.

"Y...you can't be real. You're not really here, this..this can't be..." Stan was babbling, trying to move backwards up along the bed to no avail. His fingers clenched in the bedspread, as if trying to hold on for whatever was about to happen. Terror raced through Stan's bloodstream, his brown eyes firmly locked onto the daydream? Psychotic break? Hallucination? that was the Eddie before him. 

The boy was crying now, a single wet tear track rolling down the side of his cheek, and when he spoke again, his cold hands gently drifted down from the sides of Stan's face to rest against the pale flesh of his throat. The older of the two was still trembling, but couldn't seem to get his body to respond to him. It was like he was frozen to the bed, unable to kick out or shove the hallucination away. 

**_"mY wOrD uSeD tO bE eNoUgH fOR yOu, sTanLeY bOY!"_** Young Eddie shrieked, his volume a stark contrast from the soft and unsure voice that Stan swore he remembered young Eddie's voice being.

The difference was striking.

Cold and unforgiving fingers encircling his throat, each icy dead finger leaving goosebumps along his skin, before with surprising strength, his air was completely cut off.

Stan gasped faintly, his own hands coming up to wrap around the small wrists that were suffocating him. At that moment he became aware that no, this wasn't just a hallucination.

Hallucinations weren't too strong to shove off, even at an estimated one hundred and eighty pounds against this false Eddie's mere seventy five. 

Hallucinations didn't appear inside the bedroom out of nowhere and torture him with memories of his actions and words, how they had been used to hurt one of his closest friends. 

Hallucinations didn't grin, a parody of true delight echoing on Eddie's face as pale grey gums and broken, rotted teeth peeked out at him past pale lips. Even now above him it was like the image of his lost friend was wavering, melting and shifting like smoke and reverting to something much more terrifying.

_**"lOoK aT mE sTaNLeY. LOoK aT wHaT yOu'Ve DoNe tO mE..."** _

Stan gasped again, feeling himself topple back against the bed in a hilarious mockery of laying down for a good night's sleep even as he bucked and thrashed madly. Despite the motions, those small hands didn't loosen a single iota. Stan gagged on nothing, his lungs burning madly. He needed to breathe-!

Not!Eddie grinned again, leaning closer. Through the warning signs of his lungs stinging and unwilling tears beginning to pool at the corners from the strain, his eyes wide and bulging, he became aware he could smell rotten flesh on the boy's breath. 

_**"dOnT cRy StAnLeY. wE aLl fLoAt dOwN heRE-"**_ The fake boy cooed in a mockery of the real Eddie's concerned tone. Stan tried again desperately to draw air into his lungs, scratching madly at those immovable hands around his neck. His vision was darkening around the edges and despite the grip he had on the hallucination's wrists, he couldn't tear the steely childlike hands from around his throat.

Finally, Stan didn't have the strength to keep fighting anymore. His arms felt like dead weights that slowly slipped from pulling at the hallucination's hands to lie unmoving against the bedspread. As his head flopped backwards against the pillow and his arms lay limply at his sides, hilariously he couldn't stop himself from noticing how the black dots that were overtaking his field of view weren't perfectly symmetrical. 

The last thing Stan heard before those dark spots morphed together and overtook his vision was a twisted version of a giggle shared formerly between two friends and the distant muffled sounds of his friends downstairs eating garlic bread in the parlor.

_**"sWeEt DrEaMs, StAnLeY bOy~"** _


	76. The Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bev and Mike have enough of Stan, Bill, and Richie's continued bickering and decide to try and get them to repair bridges. They just weren't expecting what Richie would find upon reluctantly bringing Stan his dinner.

Richie scowled at Bill as the plate of garlic bread was passed from Mike's hands, to Bill's, and now was being offered to him.

He was tempted to pass it on by to Beverly without taking one, but the way Georgie was watching him hopefully made him huff and obligingly take a slice to plop onto his napkin. He passed the serving dish over to Beverly and watched her sigh and place the second to last slice on her paper plate.

"Stan's still not back. Maybe someone should take him up his piece?" Mike asked in a carefully neutral tone to avoid causing any more arguments.

Richie scowled as he bitterly took a bite out of his with some disdain. "Let him quit pouting and come down, then. Nobody else is gonna eat it."

Beverly sighed somewhat dejectedly at Richie's response, glancing over at Mike as if hoping one of them could get Richie and Stan to mend fences before Eddie came back. "It's going to get cold."

Georgie looked somewhat sadly down at his own piece as Richie let out a small grumble, the six year old's small fingers carefully picking at the cheese and crust before nibbling on a section and watching proceedings with intelligent brown eyes.

"Yeah, well, the same can be said for Eddie and Ben out there right now. It's almost four in the afternoon, and if those two get hurt tonight because _Bill and fucking Stan_ couldn't keep their damned mouths shut-!"

Bill huffed somewhat irritably, throwing his napkin back down to the table and crossing his arms over his chest. "I alr-ruh-ready told y-you, I-I'm suh-suhh-"

Richie didn't give him time to finish, snatching the spare piece of garlic bread from the serving dish and shooting him a scowl. "I don't want to hear anymore excuses! If we're gonna be here, if we're all gonna put ourselves in danger being here because of your precious _fucking clown..._ this ends. All the fighting. All the bullshit. It fucking stops, got it?" 

Richie's tone was absolutely zero nonsense, a complete 180 from his typical behavior. It was clear that all the stress from being cooped in the house combined with everything that was happening had clearly left an impact on them all. Plus being separated from Eddie, and having no clue if or when Ben would get him home, had definitely left its own mark on the comedian. 

"You can't...you can't _do this_ to your fucking friends, Bill! We all need to feel like there's somewhere safe we can go in Derry, and right now? This is that place. Okay?! _This_ is our safe house! You and Stan don't get to drive us away over a stupid fucking argument! Yes, I know Audra got hurt and that's a bad fucking scene. But there are eight other people in this house besides her! Their safety matters, too! Don't you get it, Bill?" Richie's desperation to get through to their leader was palpable as his tongue darted out to wet lips that were dry from frustration. "Don't you _see?_ Ben and Spaghetti Man could fucking _die_ out there tonight because of the way you and Stan reacted earlier!" By this point Bill had sunk down lower and lower into his seat, the reality of Richie's words seeming to hit him in earnest for the first time. "And right now, Eds doesn't _have_ the fucking option to throw in the towel and leave town! Not like some of us. Mike, me, Bev, Ben, hell, even you and Audra can bail out whenever you want to. Some of us...can't." His dark eyes darted meaningfully at Georgie, Bill's expression crumbling at the reminder. "Stan can't. Eddie can't. He has _nowhere_ safe he can go, because as soon as any of our three man sewer crew hits the borders, they _rot._ You're lucky Eddie doesn't have the option to just leave, because _I_ do, and if it were up to me, we'd be in Cali before sunrise sipping mojitos and toasting the very distant memory of this shithole town!" Beverly frowned and laid a soft hand on his arm, which Richie just shrugged off. It hurt to see how angry he was and to realize that in a way it was partially justified. What Bill and Stan had said may have been harsh, but it wouldn't help to keep reminding Bill and Stan of that fact endlessly either. After all, they were all under a lot of stress and bickering was to be expected...but perhaps not quite to the degree it had escalated to.

Bill thinned his lips into a tight line but nodded, glancing over at Audra and relaxing his expression softly as he found her already gazing over at him. "Y-You're ruh-right. I-I'm _suh-sorry,_ okay?"

Richie scowled at Bill and shook his head. "I'm not the one who deserves your damned apology. It's Eds who you _should_ be apologizing to. If he accepts it, come find me. Until then? Fuck off." 

With that, Richie stormed from the room, irritation clear on his face even as he reluctantly and slowly stomped his way up the stairs. Dark brown eyes flicked down to the piece of garlic bread he still had in one hand, a little circular piece that Georgie had insisted was the only one not too lopsided to bother Stan.

A little of the anger that had seemed to grip his heart so tightly the past few hours seemed to fade away at the reminder of Stan's little quirks. Sure, Richie was upset and disappointed with their reactions towards Audra's accident and how they had lashed out immediately at the closest scapegoat, which in this case was Eddie. But at the same time he couldn't just ignore how Stan was the one who helped get Eddie and Georgie out of the sewers safely. Stan was the one who had gently talked Eddie down from his psychosomatic asthma induced panic attack. Stan was the one who held Richie up at the hospital, who had wiped blood from his ears and nose afterwards and hadn't complained about the stains left behind.

Stan was the one who had pulled Richie from continuing a life of drug abuse and alcoholism and forcefully dumped him back on the straight and narrow.

Without Stan, Richie knew he would have ended up just like his parents, or perhaps fallen into the so called infamous Twenty Seven Club as his reckless habits cost him the rest of his life. He could have easily been another failed comedian, endlessly buying harder and harder drugs to get his fix while his body burned through them faster and faster. He could still remember what it was like to wake up collapsed against a kitchen cabinet on a dirty tile floor, head swimming and being completely unsure of where he was or what had happened the previous night. Richie knew firsthand the shame an addict feels when they meet their own eyes in the mirror, assuming they even could bear it. Richie remembered skeletal, hollowed out cheeks, his normally curly hair having gone flat, dull and lifeless over a few months of drug abuse. His eyes had been bloodshot and pupils blown wide, a few day's worth of unshaven stubble visible along his jawline and chin. His chocolate brown eyes looked too big for his face and much too dim, as if all the joy behind them had been swallowed up through the course of his own actions. He remembered looking around the room and realizing with a start that he had used up every single bit of heroin he had the previous night. 

Instantly his mind had focused on the need to acquire more. It didn't matter that it was six in the morning, not a dollar to his name, and he was stone cold sober. 

He didn't want to be, and so he needed more.

Richie didn't question if his habit had become a problem when he sold his precious record collection.

Richie didn't question if it was a problem when he found himself on his knees in the stall of a seedy bar's bathroom at age seventeen, a faceless dealer patting down his feverish and sick body for anything of value before leaving him there alone to shiver and shake his way through his high in a pool of his own vomit.

He didn't question if it was a problem when he found himself sneaking into his parent's room to steal the few nice rings his father owned and a necklace that had been a gift from Richie's maternal great grandmother to his mother.

The money he got from pawning the items got him through two more days.

Yes, now that he was older and arguably wiser, Richie could admit he had been in serious trouble. If not for Stan, he wouldn't have even made it twenty seven years to be called back later. 

He imagined the disappointment Mike would have had checking up on them to discover Richie had been found OD'd in the back of a stolen van or something similar before twenty years had even fully passed. He couldn't suppress the shiver and sighed, resolving to at least approach Stan without a chip on his shoulder and to attempt to remain calm. Their friendship was worth at least that much.

He knew Stan hated it when people just barged into his room; and although the bedroom wasn't his per say, Stan had arguably retreated up there to be alone and probably wouldn't welcome his company.

Richie sighed and let his knuckles rap sharply once against the door. "Stan? Hey. Uh. I know you don't really like to eat when you're upset, but.... I just... well... Ah, fuck, this isn't working. Listen, I get where you're coming from. I do. Really. If anything happened to Eds, I'd be livid. We both said some shit we didn't mean. Can we just...y'know, agree to move on?"

Silence was the only answer he received.

Richie frowned. Maybe Stan had gone to sleep? It was pretty early for that, but then again they were all under enough stress that they could probably all do with the extra few hours rest. Still, Stan was a light sleeper, and Richie would have expected him to at least ask him to, "Go away," or "Leave me alone."

Nothing.

Richie knocked again, frown deepening. "Stan? What the fuck, man, are you jacking it in the shower or just ignoring me to be a dick?"

He wasn't surprised by the lack of response this time, more frustrated and somewhat saddened. Richie had honestly thought that Stan would have at least been willing to hear him out. The rejection stung. 

"Hmph...Typical Stan. Well, when you decide you wanna come down with the rest of us, we'll be in the parlor, I guess." Richie sighed, and upon hearing nothing but stony silence from inside the room, turned and headed back downstairs.

He made it three steps before he realized that he still had the damn slice of garlic bread in his hand. If he came back downstairs with it, Bev and Mike would know that he hadn't actually spoken to Stan and they'd think he was trying to weasel out of making up with the accountant.

Richie scowled and stomped back up the stairs, strolling into the bathroom to take a paper towel to use as a makeshift plate. A childish part of himself was tempted to just shove the entire piece into his mouth whole and hide the evidence, but that was the plan of a thirteen year old. He was forty years old, it was time he started acting like it in situations like these.

So, steeling his resolve, Richie stomped back up the stairs and reached for the knob, gently turning into the left and pushing the door inwards. "Knock knock, Stan, I'm- _what the fuck-?!"_

Stan was splayed limply on the bed with a small form leaning over him, his face nearly gray from lack of oxygen as a giggling twelve year old version of Eddie choked the life out of him. Richie's eyes widened before narrowing in rage at this imposter for daring to not only take Eddie's form, but to hurt his best friend with it? Unacceptable. He lunged forward and grabbed the imposter by the hair, ignoring the surprised shrieks of pain the false Eddie gave as he was roughly pulled away from Stan and shoved into the nightstand. With a cry of rage that no twelve year old could ever hope to replicate, the image of Not!Eddie seemed to dissipate then to mist, leaving the room barren except for Richie and-

"Stan? Stan!" Richie cried out, eyes widening in alarm as he realized the man hadn't so much as twitched since Not!Eddie's fingers had been pried from around his throat. He rushed over to the bed and swore, grabbing Stan's shoulders and lifting him up. "Fuck, Stan, fucking please wake up, _breathe-!"_

Stan's head sagged somewhat bonelessly on his neck and Richie felt an instant of pure terror where he was absolutely sure he had been too late to do anything to save his friend.

All too soon, however, Stan choked violently and gagged around nothing, coughing and shaking as his face finally changed from gray to a very deep red as he slowly drew in a few shallow breaths. "Stan? Thank fucking God, okay, uh, just try to breath gently. There's gotta be an ice pack around here somewhere..." The whole time Stan nodded shakily, and gently undid the top buttons of his shirt to keep his neck untouched. He made a low coughing noise as if trying to clear his throat only for his face to twist in unexpected pain, grimacing as he slowly sat up and tried to put himself back in order. 

Already Richie could make out angry, deep purple bruises forming along the pale skin of Stan's throat, and fury trembled at his core. Richie wondered how well Stan would be able to talk for a few days, given that he had very nearly just had his larynx crushed-

Richie's stomach wobbled violently as he remembered the taunt that had been thrown out at him by the voice from so long ago. "gOiNg tO mAkE hIm mUrDeR LiTtlE sCaReD eDdiE lAuGh WhEn hE cRuSheS hIS LaRyNx aNd gEtS tO WAtch the life drain out of him slowly...maybe I'll have him let go before Eds can finally die, let him gasp for air and wheeze and choke and cry and plead for mercy before these very fingers wrap around his throat and do it all over again..." It had been intended to be a threat towards Eddie, but the attempted method had been intentionally mimicked in the assault on Stan. 

Not only that, but the fact that Pennywise had deliberately chosen Eddie's form to try and kill Stan seemed noteworthy. Richie's stomach churned as he hoped to any and every deity that was listening that Pennywise hadn't toyed with Stan like that, hadn't choked him into unconsciousness only to let up and allow him enough air to come to. The idea of Stan being held down and choked to the point of near death over and over again, being _played with_ like a smug cat with a wounded mouse, was infuriating and made his heart clench in anguish at the thought of what could have happened if he had been a little more upset, or had spent a little more time yelling at Bill. If he would have arrived even a few seconds later, there would have been nothing awaiting him in this room but his best friend's lifeless body and a mysterious pair of muddy shoe prints in a size closer currently to Georgie's own than any of theirs left behind on the carpet. 

Stan's hair was a disheveled wreck and his sleeves were out of place, twisted up around his elbows from his struggles to get free earlier. His brown eyes were red rimmed and his cheeks streaked with tracks of unbidden forceful tears. 

"R'...R'ch..."

Richie cut him off even as he returned from the adjoining bathroom with a first aid kit. "Shh, don't try to talk for awhile. You might hurt your throat even more." he said urgently, scowling when Stan ignored him and kept trying stubbornly anyways.

"Ch...R'ch'. Y'saved me...'M s'rry, 'm r'lly s'rry...s'smy fault. Th'nk y-"

Richie interrupted, looking incredulous and still worried for his friend's health. "What _is it_ with everyone thinking what fucking Pennywise does is their fault? You better not thank me for this shit, after all, you did the same for me. Except I think the monster you pulled offa me was a little heavier than the one I pulled offa you. I swear, Stan, if you don't quit blubbering and pull yourself together I'm gonna tell Bill you wet the bed in the third grade." he teased softly, letting a small smile dart onto his lips as Stan scowled and glared in his direction. Despite the glare he had been given by the shorter of the two, Richie knew that Stan understood the difference between gentle teasing and intentional mockery, especially after being friends with Richie for so many years.

"Y..Y're r'ght. B't, st'll....th'nks for...c'ming upst'rs..." Stan slowly croaked out in a faint wheeze, his voice sounding absolutely wrecked. Richie shook his head and continued digging through the first aid kit in a somewhat desperate attempt to find something that could help ease the pain. Bandages were no good, and most of the creams were antiseptics or antibacterial ointments. There were also tweezers, several medication bottles (again useless, Stan was in no shape to swallow even the tiniest pill in the kit) and even a few simple splints and braces for rolled ankles or dislocated wrists. 

Richie bit his lip as he forlornly shoved the first aid kit aside. "Nothin' useful in there. We're gonna have to head downstairs."

"R'ch'e."

"You up for it? If you don't think you can walk, don't you dare get your skinny ass outta that bed-" 

"....R'ch?" 

Richie's eyes shot over to Stan worriedly. "There's a phone upstairs, I can go call Mike and have him run something u-"

 _"Richie!"_ Stan interrupted, louder than he was comfortable with in order to be heard over the taller man's mother hen session. His throat burned and he wished he could swallow even a little bit without his throat burning like it had just been slit. "C'n w'lk m'self. S'fine."

Richie eyed him somewhat dubiously but got to his feet, reaching out a hand in an offer to let Stan lean on him if he needed to. Stan arched an eyebrow at the taller but Richie wasn't swayed.

"S'sly?"

Richie nodded insistently. "Yup. It's a House Rule. All Jewish accountants who have recently been strangled by shapeshifting clown demons automatically get their sexiest friend's help to help walk them down the stairs. Aren't you lucky?"

Stan arched a single eyebrow and took Richie's hand with mock reluctance, leaning on the taller only a little bit after the bottom steps didn't come soon enough. 

In reality he was still stunned. He couldn't believe he had survived yet another encounter with Pennywise and wasn't in the mood to press his luck any further. The fact that someone had noticed he was gone for too long and come looking for him, even after the horrible things he has said to Eddie in anger? It was...a huge relief. 

It seemed counterintuitive but the scariest thing for Stan as a child was to be abandoned by his friends and left alone at the clown's mercy. Now, as an adult with a much more rational mindset and less imagination than a child, Stan found himself...surprisingly unafraid of that. Not because he didn't think the clown could hurt him. Oh, he knew firsthand that It could, whether Pennywise was wearing the Flute Lady's shape or a young Eddie Kaspbrak's. No, he was no longer scared because both times that his so called 'worst fear' had occurred, _somebody_ had come for him. At least one Loser. And if Pennywise was still weak enough to flee upon facing two Losers at once, they might have a chance to beat It.

Instead of quashing Stan's spirits or leaving him dead, this latest brush in with Pennywise left Stan with more hope blooming in his chest than he had ever thought possible. Maybe it was the adrenaline racing through his bloodstream or maybe it was the desperate conclusion of a deranged man beyond all reason.

Whatever it was, Stan felt like as long as he kept the other Losers together and united, they _could_ beat Pennywise, once and for all.


	77. Reading the Signs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Eddie find a safe place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'll be going back to work full time on Monday, and so the updates might be slower. However they will be longer if that is the case, so please just bear with me!

Completely unaware of the situation Richie had just uncovered back at Mike's house, Eddie and Ben continued to drive somewhat aimlessly around Derry. The driver didn't seem anywhere close to lost, however. Each turn he made was deliberate, each backtrack or sidestreet taken seemed to be intentional. He never looked confused or unsure of a direction the way Ben definitely was.

The architect hummed and glanced down at his wrist, his blue cotton work shirt rolled up to his elbow to expose his forearm. Freckles dotted the visible flesh as well as a fine dusting of brown hair. He had definitely changed the most physically out of all of them from his time away from Derry. His skin was sun kissed and tanned by years spent wielding a tool belt and a hammer by day on a construction site and a pencil over blueprints in his studio by night.

It had been almost half an hour since they had left Mike's house, and it was nearly 4pm. The day had been nearly spent already. Ben worried his lip, inwardly hoping Eddie would be ready to go back before it got dark. He wasn't sure if this Pennywise was stronger after dark like his previous incarnation had been. Surely with It's host body mutilated and dead, there was no way for Pennywise to physically appear? 

Eddie, meanwhile, had a look on his face like his mind was racing a thousand miles a minute. He knew the things Stan and Bill had said weren't true, he _knew_ that, and yet it still stung. And yet something about the whole situation was bothering him. 

The things Bill had said...the way Stan had come completely unglued...yes, they were all under a lot of stress but that didn't explain every hurtful word that had been thrown at him. It was like they had been actually _trying_ to drive him out of the hou-

"Oh, fuck." Eddie croaked shakily, his hands clenching tighter around the steering wheel. Ben's attention shot quickly to the younger man, frowning in concern as he waited for an explanation.

"Eddie, what is it, what's wrong?" he asked softly, sitting up a little bit more alertly as if wanting to be ready for anything. After their last interaction with Pennywise inside a car, Ben knew that just because it was still daylight didn't mean they were safe. Far from it.

Eddie drew in a short breath and looked around as if just seeing the street he was on for the very first time. "We need to get inside somewhere. Someplace safe, just for a little bit. I have...a bad feeling. Like we're exposed. Gotta hunker down."

Ben could definitely understand that feeling but not why it seemed to have gripped his friend so suddenly. "What brought this on...?" Ben asked gently, casting his intelligent hazel eyes onto Eddie with some concern. The man seemed to be getting more and more nervous as time went on, and who could blame him? Pennywise seemed to be targeting him more than the others lately, and it didn't make sense. Surely any of them would be a fair target, not just Eddie. And yet, despite the incident with Richie in the hospital and the fact that Ben had been in the car with Eddie when Henrywise had appeared, it felt like Pennywise was deliberately picking at just one of them, over and over, to see how long it took for him to snap.

Ben could see that a nervous breakdown of some sort was just around the corner. Eddie had been through a lot since returning to Derry, and the only one who could even hope to understand was probably Stan. It hurt Ben to see Eddie's best resource towards recovering turn him away over such a simple misunderstanding. The architect knew he needed to try and smooth things over with not just Eddie and Bill, but Richie and Stan. Those two had been close for a long time as well, and despite their differences managed to get along reasonably well.

Ben was inwardly glad he had taken the time to memorize Mike's home phone number. If they did end up needing to take shelter somewhere, at least he could call and see if things had smoothed over enough to come back. At his question, Eddie glanced over with an unsure expression on his lips.

"I...I don't know how to explain it. It's just a hunch. But. Um. If you look at the people It has been aiming for...it's only those of us who have ever been in the deadlights. And....well, I mean...I just need to think." Eddie's eyes flicked over to his for an instant and Ben frowned at the reluctant acceptance he spotted in the chestnut depths.

Ben had an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. "What do you need from me?" he asked instead of remaining silent and just observing. 

Eddie licked his lips and turned his attention back to the street. "A place to go. Someplace safe, in Derry, outside of Mike's house. J-Just. Anywhere. I'll get us there. I just need a-"

"A destination." Ben didn't even realize he had spoken until Eddie nodded vigorously.

"Yeah. I...my inner sense of direction...it's all messed up. It keeps tugging, but only sometimes. It's..." Eddie made a face and scrunched up his nose as his left hand rubbed at his chest for a moment. "Distracting. Like I want to follow it, but as soon as I feel like I'm getting closer, the feeling just...goes away."

Ben hummed and without even realizing it, rattled off an address. "64 East Broadway. Downtown. Old Derry." 

Eddie nodded and easily changed his course until the tired Lincoln coasted into a parking spot outside of the Derry Public Library. 

If he remembered the connection Ben had to this place, he didn't say anything. Eddie merely sighed and got out of the car, casting a glance over his shoulder as if expecting people to be watching them. Ben remained in the car for a moment, a strange feeling of nostalgia washing over him at the sight of the library.

The sun was casting the same familiar shadows across the building from the same old oak tree in the front yard. It was nearing late fall and the smell of crisp leaves was flooding the air. The time of day was even correct for when he would usually arrive; shortly after he had left school as long as he successfully evaded Bowers and his pack of goons. For a moment he was happily jealous that Mike had become the head librarian here, but at the same time he couldn't think of a more peaceful place for the lighthouse keeper to reside away from home. He really believed that at least for him, in Derry, this was his safe place. Even with the memory of smoking burnt Easter eggs and the harsh whisper of _'Eggboy!'_ over his shoulder. 

This was _his_ refuge as a child and it would remain that way until It had been slain as many times as it took. 

"We'll be safe here for awhile." Ben said confidently with a firm nod, before he unbuckled his seatbelt and followed Eddie inside.


	78. Love To Read

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Eddie may have found someplace It can't follow, but the influence of the clown cannot be contained by something as flimsy as stone walls and shelves full of paper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, everyone! I'd just like to apologize once again for the lengthy delay. I've been struggling with my depression terribly for the past few months and only recently have been in a place where I feel able to write. 
> 
> Hopefully nobody is disappointed by the chapter and if anyone would like to chat or just ask questions about the story in more detail, you can find me on kik under the username 'redhoodofgotham'. Thanks again for the support everyone!

Ben took a moment to drink in the sight of the lobby of the Derry Public Library, swallowing a lump in his throat as he spotted several children's drawings of various cheerful scenes proudly displayed along the walls. Each was lovingly decorated with markers, crayons, and copious amounts of red glitter. The library aides seemed to still be hanging the drawings in groups based on what children's book that particular group had read that day. 

Ben scowled at the overly cheerful and brightly colored book cover in the center that was emblazoned with _'The Sleepiest Clown,"_ along with a gaudy picture of a rodeo clown snoozing beneath the balloon shaped letters.

Ben _knew_ Mike wouldn't have approved that particular book under the current circumstances.

He could feel questioning brown eyes upon him and glanced down at Eddie. The shorter man was idly fiddling with his cast, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before releasing it and glancing up at Ben with concern in his features. "Are you alright, Haystack? You, um. You actually just went sort of pale."

The taller of the two blinked for a second and quickly slapped a faint smile onto his lips despite the fact he was beginning to doubt the safety of the library for the two of them. "Nothing. Just not loving Mike's library aide's choice in literature."

He made as if to step forward and froze as all at once a rush of memories swept over him.

_'Gotta hide gotta get away damn it damn it why does Huggins have to be rich enough that his parents can buy him a car?!'_

He remembered ducking into the library from what seems like dozens of nameless, faceless bullies lost to time and the faint haze of Derry's selective amnesia. Any time he tried to recall details about a specific bullying incident from before he moved to the godforsaken town, they all just looked kind of like Henry Bowers and his gang. 

_'Run run run faster gotta be faster goddamnit they're closer than I-'_

He remembered the slightly critical look of the librarian the first time he had ducked into the children's section at age seven with the knees of his ill fitting jeans soaked in mud and his eye blackened. He remembered shame and feeling like he was less than nothing. 

_"Haha, lookit the little fatboy cry! Makes him jiggle even **more!"**_

He had grabbed a random book off the shelf without even glancing at the title and shoved it onto the check-out counter, not meeting the woman's eyes even as she asked that terrifying question that had long since been lost to the scatterbrained memory of a child. 

_"Do you even **like** to read, Ben Hanscom?" _

Ben's eyes shot open and he was quite abruptly back in the lobby of the Derry Public Library, breathing heavily and clinging to the nearby handrail for dear life. 

Eddie was at his side in an instant, looking alarmed. "What the hell was _that?_ A-Are you all right?" he whisper-hissed quietly as a patron glanced up from her magazine curiously for a moment. Upon finding nothing interesting to watch, she sniffed in disdain and returned her attention to the many drunken exploits of Hollywood's finest. 

Ben nodded quickly in response even as he realized he was absentmindedly nibbling at his left thumb, an anxious habit he had kicked sometime around the sixth grade. He hadn't even remembered the fact that he had once done it out of nervousness until this moment. 

Despite Ben's confidence in the fact that they would be safe at the library, it was Eddie who slowly and somewhat reluctantly slid between the gap between Ben's shoulders and the entryway, before gesturing forward with a faint movement of his bound arm. 

".....I don't know if I really believe that, but... Are you...are you ready to go in?" he asked, head cocked inquisitively to the side as if wordlessly wondering what was holding Ben back. 

The architect swallowed a phantom lump in his throat, shaking his head to clear the memories away and offered up a smile. "Yeah. I think I'm ready. It was just..." A tanned hand gentle brushed curly light brown locks away from his own forehead, his skin rugged and warm. 

Ben sighed and shot Eddie a somewhat pained look. "I just realized how much time I spent here...hiding from bullies. It's where I've always hidden, even before we moved to Derry." he trailed off, the expression in his hazel eyes somewhat distant and obviously lost in the past. 

"I was just thinking..." 

Ben laughed then, a broken and hollow thing that sounded shaky, fragile, and nothing at all like the boisterous and hearty laughs that Eddie had grown used to hearing back at Mike's house. The taller man shook his head and gave Eddie a soft look. 

"I was just wondering. Wondering if I... if I actually even started coming to the library because I genuinely like to read, or if it was j-just because if I hid my nose in a book and hunkered down for a few hours, I knew the bullies would get bored waiting for me and head home..?" Ben shrugged somewhat helplessly, seeming completely unaware of the look of empathy Eddie was giving him. 

The shorter man gently rested his left hand on Ben's shoulder in a gesture of both comfort and solidarity. "H-Hey, Ben, it's not-" 

"I..." Ben trailed off somewhat bitterly and laughed again, this time a grudging sort of bark. "I can't even _remember,_ Eddie. I thought coming here would help us, help _me,_ but-" 

Eddie's hand moved in slow, calming circles on the other man's shoulder before he began to gently guide Ben inside, past the empty reception desk, and towards the nearest table. As he did so, he made sure to talk, keeping Ben's focus on him and not the many memories the library held for the two of them. 

"Hey, Haystack, you're okay, just breathe for a second and thing logically." Eddie implored, slowly drumming his fingertips against the table after he sat down in a motion of antsiness he seemed to have picked up from Richie. Despite the circumstances, Ben couldn't hide his amusement at seeing Eddie fidgeting in a manner so reminiscent of the Tozier boy. 

Eddie, seeming to take Ben's small chuckle as agreement, seemed to relax as his shoulders lost their tension. "See? That's better, just stay calm for a sec. Think about it, why would you have ever chosen a library to hide in, unless you already associated the library with good things? It's all just tricks from the clown, I promise. You _love_ to read and that's a part of you! It has taken _plenty_ from us already. It can't have this, too." 

Ben swallowed again, this time actually managing to get rid of the lump in his throat. However, he was clearly still somewhat unsure. "I...I...you don't know that... Y-Your memories could be _wrong._ How do you know?" he almost moaned in despair, strong hands fisting into his own caramel colored locks desperately as he tried to think through the steadily approaching panic. 

Ben became aware that Eddie had left the table just in time for a heavy hardcover book to be shoved into his line of sight, nearly causing the man to leap to his feet in alarm. 

"Because of _this."_ Eddie murmured, and then Ben realized what was in front of him. 

It was the medical textbook from the car, the one Ben had brought with him from Mike's house just on a whim, suspecting it may help Eddie get through any sort of existential related panic attack. 

Ben just hadn't expected to be the one needing it. 

Eddie tapped the cover twice with the knuckles on his left hand, glancing up at Ben once he knew he had his attention. "Because of this book right here. You bought this for me on a whim twenty six years ago because I was feeling upset and sorry for myself after I found out about my asthma being a lie. I felt like I wouldn't ever amount to anything." 

Eddie leaned back in his chair and watched Ben carefully for any sign that he was growing upset again. "You tried to solve that the only way you knew how. With a book. And goddamnit, that _helped._ So please don't doubt your love of reading. It's real. _You're_ real." 

Ben's fingers slowly uncurled as he reached out trembling hands to pull the book into his lap. 

As if by magic, he could feel his sudden panic and fears of one of his favorite things in the world being somehow ruined by the clown evaporate into mist. 

He remembered hours spent curled up in the comfort of one of the beanbag chairs in the corner of the children's section, a pile of literature almost comically tall stacked meticulously beside him. 

He remembered each amazing adventure he had taken with characters such as Matilda and the BFG. He remembered exploring Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory with Charlie and the boy's excitable grandfather by his side. He remembered reading the whimsical and somehow entirely enticing poems by Shel Silverstein, a man who was deceptively scary looking on the back flap of his books despite the incredible worlds he would effortlessly create just past the point of Where The Sidewalk Ends. 

He remembered pouring through pages and pages of books, each chapter igniting a sort of fire in his soul that couldn't be extinguished by something as petty as insults meant to tear him down. 

He remembered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7-1-18 Just wanted to let everyone know I haven't forgotten this story and the next chapter is in the works! Thanks so much for being patient, I appreciate it more than words can say. ;)


	79. The Past Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for such a long wait, and especially for an incomplete chapter, but things haven't gotten much better (they've gotten arguably worse but that's a story for another day) and the only thing I feel like I can do to show my appreciation for every sweet comment and the feeling of support is to continue writing, for the sake of everyone who has eagerly been awaiting the return of my versions of the Losers. Your continued support means everything to me. ;) Thanks for reading!
> 
> (PS: For anyone wondering, the entire chapter is meant to be in italics :)

_Bill Denbrough wasn't a large boy by any means, not at fourteen, and certainly not at nine years old._

_In fact, as if in direct opposition to his mother's attempts to trigger a growth spurt by supplying ample amounts of dinner nightly, their eldest son stubbornly remained lean and skinny with a dotting of freckles along the bridge of his pale nose. His auburn hair was sideswept and messy from once again flying down the hill on Silver at speeds approaching mach one, a slight sheen of sweat glistening on his cheeks right above his exhilarated smile. One of his socks had fallen down the skinny leg to sink into the abyss of his left sneaker, while the other hung on for dear life, clinging to seemingly nothing._

_"Bill, what have I told you about riding that bicycle down the hill? There's too many alleys, if you're not careful, someone could shoot out and hit you!" his mother had warned, her tone scolding and yet slightly soft as she bounced baby Georgie on her hip. This wasn't the only time that Bill would be chastised for riding Silver in dangerous places, but it was the last time her attention would ever be fully upon her oldest son as she did so._

_"I nuh-n-kn-know, M-Mom. I always luh-look both w-wuh-ways." he insisted as vehemently as his stutter would allow him to. The woman simply sighed and bounced Georgie, earning a delighted shriek from the infant as he wrapped one small pudgy fist around a stray curl. Sharon's face twisted and she carefully began disentangled Georgie's fingers._

_"It's not you I'm worried about."_

_**'Yeah, no shit. I was never what you were worried about.'** _

_The thought itself was as dark and out of place as it was sudden._

_"After all, people don't always pay attention to what's right in front of them. They could hurt you so easily, baby!"_

_Bill jolted out of his thoughts and frowned at his mother, opening his mouth to ask if she had heard any interruption-_

_-only to have Sharon turn away from him, much too busy with his infant brother to pay him any more notice._

_Bill's heart sank at the dismissal even as she murmured, "Have fun on your bike, sweetie." over her shoulder at him, smiling down at Georgie as he giggled and clapped his hands up at her._

_Sighing, the elder of the two Denbrough brothers picked up his backpack, left discarded at the bottom of the stairwell next to a banister that would only remain unbroken until the very next day, exactly three years in the future. Bill typically abandoned his school things in this spot before his mind switched out of learning mode and into the very serious exploits and games of a curious young child in the early autumn afternoons, and Friday afternoon had been no different. He needed the script that was inside, however. The boy worried his bottom lip a bit as a flush worked its way over his cheeks, imagining himself playing Romeo in the school play and getting to kiss his crush, the infamous Beverly Marsh, in front of everybody he knew. He definitely needed to practice, as it was predominantly his cursed stutter and not embarrassment from the kissing scene that would make the role difficult to play._

_As he heaved the backpack onto skinny shoulders, feeling the discomfort from his math binder insistently digging into his shoulder as if his overbearing teacher was physically reminding him that he had yet to complete last week's assignment. Bill slid onto the oversized frame of his bicycle with practiced ease, using the wheel well of his father's truck to boost himself up and balance upon the seat. Upon Silver, he had always felt like the whole world was laid out before him, and in those moments he was much more than a nine year old boy who was the seventh shortest in his class._

_He felt huge, and powerful, and important. Bill felt a surge of gratitude that he could experience something so pleasant from what essentially amounted to a mass of aluminum, rubber, and silver paint. As he pushed off on the left pedal, his scraped knees brushing dangerously against the bottom of the handlebars as he went, Bill felt **complete.**_

_He flew down 7th Street with his chewed-short fingernails drumming lightly against the handlebars, squinting from the intensity of the afternoon sunlight. Late summer in Derry tended to be bright and warm, despite the fact it was approaching the end of August._

_He drifted into the parking lot of the Derry Public Library, using the bike stand as a sort of crutch to help slide down Silver without hurting himself. The only casualty of his dismount was his right leg, now adorned with a thin stripe of glistening oil from the bike chain. Bill swiped at it absentmindedly and wiped his hand on his jean shorts, feeling the grime and sweat on his palm erasing it from existence as if it never was. He brushed his slightly damp auburn bangs out of his eyes and readjusted his grip on his backpack, approaching the library with something like trepidation on his boyish features. Bill hoped the pleasant weather and the temptation of sneaking a few hours more of playtime into the late afternoon would keep most children out of the library so he could hole up in a corner somewhere and practice his lines without fear of being watched or mocked._

_He had no way of knowing that thirty two years later on the same day, the only current visitors to the library were two grown men, one jittery and nervous and the other remaining calm for his sake._

_He stepped inside the library and braced himself for whatever he would find inside._


	80. The Past Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I just want to let you all know that things have turned around for me. It's not perfect yet but an adjustment in a therapist and my medication has worked wonders. Thank you all so much for bearing with me!

It was Beverly who saw them coming, hawklike eyes wide as she spotted Stan leaning heavily on Richie with his left arm slung over the taller man's shoulders. The comedian was surprisingly careful with Stan, slowing his steps to a distance the recently choked man could keep up with and keeping his right arm around his lower back in case he fell. His dark eyes were filled with concern even as he rapidfired worry-laced questions down at Stan, the bemused accountant simply exhaling sharply through his nose in thinly veiled irritation.

Bev stood immediately, rushing around the table and nearly dumping Bill out of his chair in her hurry to get to them. "Oh, my _God,_ Stan, what happ- Oh-! Your _throat,_ those bruises look awful, Richie, what-?"

Bill and Mike darted to their feet as well, Georgie scrambling up onto the table and narrowly avoiding knocking over the salt and pepper shakers to get closer to Stan quicker. 

"Stan, h-holy fuh-fuck, what happuh-puh-penned to y-you?" Bill demanded, intense blue eyes darting from Richie to Stan in desperation to understand what had occurred to leave his....well. To leave _Stan_ in such a state in such a short period of time. He gently reached out to brush his fingers against the pale column of the other man's throat, biting his lip in anguish that he had been hurt at all, and a mere ten feet above his head. However, Bill couldn't help but shiver as a thick wave of satisfaction raced through him. Whether that satisfaction was from the fact that Richie had been able to drive Pennywise off alone, or something else entirely, he didn't know.

Richie carefully scooted past Bill to lead Stan to a chair and ignored the shorter of them swatting his hands away with annoyance. "Q't it, R'ch'e!" he rasped, his voice sounding absolutely wrecked. Up close, the others could spot deep purple bruises decorating Stan's pale throat in a parody of a sort of necktie, looking rather gruesome in the calm and warm lighting of the parlor.

Mike frowned deeply as his eyes caught sight of Stan's lips, still tinged slightly blue. His slender hands were trembling lightly, and his breathing still sounded rather shallow and labored.

"How's your head, Stan? Dizzy or lightheaded at all?" Mike asked quickly, kneeling next to him and gently letting his fingertips probe at Stan's pulse point while warm chocolate eyes watched the clock closely. 

Stan grumbled something under his breath until Richie poked him in the side, earning a hiss of pain and a swat in retaliation from the huffy accountant. "....b'th." he reluctantly admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. Beverly glanced over at Mike sharply and watched his lips thin at that answer.

"He's hypoxic. He's still suffocating, damn it, just slower." The librarian winced in sympathy as he noticed Stan's fingertips; his cuticles and nail beds had gone blue against his greyed-out skin. Upon seeing that Mike had spotted his fingers, Stan withdrew his hand and tucked them in his pockets with a nervous frown. 

As if it was _his_ fault.

Evidently Georgie had picked up on the situation as he perked up, disappearing off the table with a small 'oof' and scrambling out of the room, presumably to get Audra. Bill watched him go with worry in his eyes before his attention snapped back to Stan, his hand gently rubbing the accountant's lower back as he tried to come up with a way to make this situation rectify itself.

"How did this _happen?"_ Mike asked, quickly tilting Stan's head up to examine the bruising more closely. He watched as the younger of them swallowed thickly, as though the simple act of moving his neck at all caused him pain. Mike's touch was deceptively light despite his size, and his fingertips were exceedingly careful with him.

The librarian was clearly feeling guilty that his home, the area that he had thought would be safe for them had abruptly turned out to be just the opposite. 

Richie was crouched by Stan's side on the opposite arm from Bill, his leg bouncing and jittering up and down even as he spoke. "I went upstairs to, y'know, kiss 'n make up like you guys told me to." He averted his eyes for a moment as he remembered how close he had been to letting his anger and pride take control of his rational thoughts. It could have been a very different scene upstairs than the one he had discovered.

"I, uh. I decided to knock and didn't hear anything. But I had this feeling something wasn't right, and I went in anyways." Richie shoved his glasses up his nose with a long, pale finger, before shoving his hand back into his pocket before Bev could call him out on the way it was trembling. As it was, she still cast him a knowing look and moved one of her hands from Stan's shoulders onto his to give a comforting squeeze.

Richie shot her a quick look but then relaxed under her gaze, giving a wry smile in return. "I opened the door and I saw a fake little Eddie in the middle of throttling Stan. He was like, he looked _just_ like when we left the sewers the first time. Except...dead. Rotted out."

Bill's hand squeezed Stan's tighter even as the accountant nodded to confirm Richie's story. Mike heaved in a low sigh and bit his lip, glancing from Stan to Richie in quick succession.

"I...I think that... maybe the damn clown thought if I saw Eddie, I wouldn't hurt him." Richie murmured to the floor, before glancing up through thick black curls to regard the rest of them.

Bev chewed on her bottom lip a bit as she contemplated what to say, before speaking up. "And...? How did that go?"

Richie blinked before Stan interrupted them with a sharp chuckle that broke into a coughing fit. Bill and Mike leaned forward in alarm even as the stubborn man waved them away, still snickering under his breath.

"R'ch'e thr'w 'm 'nto a n'ghtst'nd by his hhhkk-hair." Despite having to spit out the word 'hair' with some difficulty, Stan couldn't keep the small smile off his lips. 

Richie shook his head wryly and got to his feet. "Only you would get a kick out of that, Staniel."

Bev glanced between Stan and Mike for a moment before she spoke again, worry invading her tone. "Mike, you said he's hypoxic..? Do we need to take him to the hospital?" She clearly was more concerned about getting Stan's health taken care of than reminiscing on what had caused it.

Mike's lips thinned into a tight line, expression grim. "Normally I would say absolutely, but...given the circumstances and the fact it's nearly dark...I... I just don't know if it's worth the risk. I don't want to see any more of us walk right into a trap."

Stan nodded in understanding with a wince, even as Bill frowned. "Wuh-We c-can't just do n-nothing. H-He needs a duh-doctor, a-and _soon."_ His concern was evident in his tone even as Georgie scurried back into the room, a gap toothed grin on his lips as he triumphantly revealed what was in his small hands.

It was the same piece of garlic bread from before, the symmetrical slice that had been forgotten in Richie's haste to get Stan breathing again.

"Stanny, you gotta eat somethin' hot. It'll soothe y'r throat. My mom says so." he explained patiently with a silly little grin on his cheeks, offering up the bread as though it would cure all of Stan's problems.

Bev's expression softened as she cast the young boy a small look of concern. "Oh, sweetie, I don't know if Stan's up to eating right now..."

Stan shook his head stubbornly and reached out to take the food from Georgie. "Th'nk you, G'rgie." he rasped quietly with a small smile.

Bill furrowed his brow. "Stan, y-you don't huh-have to-"

Stan cut him off by making a big show of taking a bite out of the slice. It wasn't really hot anymore, but it was still slightly warm. Despite the pain swallowing caused him, Stan dutifully finished it in nine small cautious mouthfuls. As he did so, Georgie's grin grew into a radiant smile even as Stan's wry smirk slipped off his lips rather abruptly, his long and sweaty fingers encircling his own throat in horror.

"There, all better!" Georgie said with a small delighted giggle, before he retrieved his discarded scuba diver with the missing arm and eagerly began to make him climb inside and around his play castle complete with the moat and fake alligators.

Stan's face remained stunned and pale even as Bill, Richie, Mike, and Bev descended upon him, nervously firing off panicked questions.

"A-Are yuh-you chuh-chuh-choking?!"

"Stan, are you alright-?"

"Breathe, just breathe if you can!"

A choir of voices surrounded him and Stan instinctively clamped his ears shut with his hands, speaking in a startlingly voice that was loud and clear.

"Guys-! Please, just be _quiet!"_ Stanley begged in an irritated sort of tone, his eyes flashing upwards with mild annoyance. 

The room fell silent, aside from the sound of Bill's hand insistently rubbing Stan's shoulders and Richie's leg jittering up and down uncontrollably. 

Georgie continued to play in the background somewhat obliviously, giggling as he slid his Groucho Marx glasses onto his face and whispered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like Richie's 'Kinky Briefcase' Voice.

Stan stood up, his face having regained a surprising amount of color despite the bruises that adorned his throat like a collar. "Th...the garlic bread. As soon as I finished it, my neck didn't feel so tight, I could breathe freely...my throat is hardly even sore." His face conveyed all his uncertainty about what that meant, even as Bev wrapped her arms around Stan in a relieved hug, smiling in contentment. 

"Holy shit, I've never been so grateful to Sharon in my entire life!" she commented with an easy sort of grin, nudging one of the caramel colored locks out of his eyes and behind his left ear. Stan smiled back at her in a cautious sort of happiness, looking over at Mike, Bill, and Richie in bemusement.

"I guess your mother really did know what she was talking about." Stan commented neutrally, clearly wishing to dismiss the miraculous event as nothing more than a coincidence.

Beverly shot Richie an incredulous look even as he rolled his eyes and gently slugged Stan in the shoulder. "Oh, _oh,_ of course, I've seen people on the verge of death commonly eat garlic bread twice daily to immediately relieve strangulation wounds in a _mothafuckin'_ flash!"

Bill clouted Richie rather roughly in the back of the head. "Knock it off, Trashmouth!" he snapped.

Richie recoiled with a flinch and a sharp howl at the sudden blow to the back of his head. "J- _Jesus,_ Bill! Try fucking pulling your punches next time! I get the message!"

Bev gently tousled the dark locks around the site of Bill's abrupt hit with sympathy and love, shooting the offending man a scowl deeper than the banks of the Kenduskeag. Bill looked appropriately chastised even as the phone in Mike's kitchen began to ring.

"I-I'll guh-get it." Bill murmured as he gazed intently at the floor, before fleeing into the kitchen with an inpatient and regretful stride. Mike watched him go with confusion in his eyes, his dark hands clenching around the handle of the chair he was sitting in. Stan glanced over and heaved in a sharp sigh, sitting up straight and tall, posture as impeccable as his demeanor.

Mike spoke up, glancing over at Bev and Richie. "Now don't say anything to Bill, but do you two think he's been acting a bit...off, lately?"

Beverly bit her lip even as her long slender finger curled around a strand of fiery red hair. "I....yeah, I've noticed, a bit."

Richie opened his mouth with a scowl, about to protest, but was interrupted as Bill returned abruptly, the phone clenched tightly in his fist.

"Ruh-Richie. Can I borrow your car? I-I puh-puhrom-omise to buh-buhring it b-back suh-suh-soon."

Richie glanced over at Bev, Stan, and Mike, before dark brown eyes shot back over to lock with Bill's ocean blue ones. He and Bill had always had a sort of special language, a connection unlike the other Losers did with their leader.

He would always do whatever his best friend needed him to.

"Yeah, Big Bill. Whatever you need."

And Richie handed over his car keys.


	81. A Misconclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Eddie continue their adventure at the library and formulate some incorrect conclusions.

The only audible noise coming from within the library was the gently whirling of the ceiling fan in endless repetition. The building itself, despite being unlocked, was deserted, with nary a living creature in sight save for Ben and Eddie. The former of the two was still trembling slightly from his panic attack, from memories that had been sealed away by the clown.

Ben's hazel brown eyes stared down intently at the medical textbook he had suddenly found enclosed in his worn, calloused hands. It felt so small to him, now, the knowledge it contained seeming to have been dwarfed almost hilariously by the growth of his frame from a boy's into a man's.

Eddie, seeming to be growing somewhat restless, dragged another chair from the table next to his and sat down in it heavily, scooting closer to Ben. "Well...as glad as I am that I happened to have that book with me....now what do we do?" The shorter of the two brushed a few misaligned curls of brown hair back away from his own eyes with a toss of his hand, shaking his wristwatch down from under his jacket and squinting at the time. "It's nearly eight o'clock, the others are sure to be wondering where we are..." He realized, of course, that it had been his own hurt and betrayal at Stan and Bill that had initially driven the two quieter men away. Ben was loyal to a fault, and unwilling to simply let any single one of them leave Mike's house without a partner. Even if it meant putting his own life on the line, Ben wouldn't have let Eddie go alone. 

That alone would have made the professional driver want to help Ben conquer his own demons, their shared friendship and childhoods nonwithstanding. He hadn't expected it to be so easy, but perhaps the fact that It was recovering from the injuries Mike had caused and they were nestled in Ben's childhood safe place made a difference. 

Ben blinked and looked up, a sudden start of an idea blooming over his suntanned skin. "Wait a second...we'll do just what we did last time. Bill and Richie read about the Ritual of Chüd in a book, didn't they? Do you remember what the name of the book was?" he asked abruptly, standing with so much speed he nearly knocked his own chair over backwards. Eddie only just barely managed to save it from hitting the floor, lifting it back upright with all four legs on the ground. Ben continued speaking, on too much of a roll to slow down. "If we can find it, maybe we can get a better clue of how to kill the damned thing for good!"

Eddie got to his feet, tucking his hands into his pocket, the one bearing a cast looking somewhat awkward as he did so. "Remember the name of the book? I didn't even remember Richie could read." he remarked, only half joking. "Maybe Mike would know?"

But Ben's attention had changed yet again, settling on a small room with a locked door and a sign advertising it as the 'Reference Room.' "Wait a second...that might work!" he breathed, heading towards the door. The room itself was almost that of a closet size, tucked back under the stairs, containing special books that weren't readily available to be checked out by the public.

Ben's memory wasn't perfect, but even he remembered the forbidden reference room; forbidden only from those who weren't yet eighteen due to some of the books being actual handwritten accounts of Derry's history, and thus, irreplaceable. As with many dark parts of the town's bloody past, the evidence was neatly tucked away to keep anyone from finding out the truth.

"Hey, Eddie, you think Mike's got a key to the reference room in his desk?" Ben asked, jiggling the handle and frowning at it as though personally betrayed when it refused to budge. The shorter man hummed in thought as he eased his way behind the front desk and carefully began to poke and nose through the various miscellaneous office supplies until he came across two items he knew had to be Mike's; a small ring of keys, each one labeled in his small, neat scrawl. The second was a small bag of chocolate covered raisins, curled up behind a stack of paper meant for the printer. He smirked softly despite himself, remembering with some sudden sureness that Mike had always had a soft spot for raisins, especially with chocolate. At least one thing hadn't changed for him.

"Here, I think this is it." Eddie called, standing up and gently fitting the corresponding key into the lock. He turned it, feeling the strangest sort of resistance, as if someone was holding the handle in place on the other side. "What the-?"

Eddie grit his teeth and adjusted his grip on the handle. "I-It's stuck. I feel like if I keep turning it, I might break the key." Ben leaned over his shoulder and frowned, watching Eddie struggle to get the lock undone.

"Keep trying." he urged softly, biting his lip. "If we're having issues getting in, that might actually be a good sign that there's something here that can help us." The architect rested his hand on the maple colored door, as though testing the strength of it. "Worst comes to worst, I'll bet I can take this door off." He rapped on the wood once with his knuckles as if to reinforce that statement even as Eddie glanced up at him incredulously.

"With your fists?!" he asked in alarm.

Ben chucked and pulled a screwdriver off of his small toolpouch that was attached to his belt. "With a screwdriver, Eddie. I'm not actually Haystack Calhoun, unfortunately." he said with a bit of teasing in his tone, lining up the head of the screwdriver with the screw holding the hinges of the door to the wall. 

Eddie shook his head with a small smile even as he returned to wiggling the key in the handle as if to make whatever was stopping the door from unlocking with ease disappear. "I can't tell if it's just jammed, or wh- Oh! I got it, I got it, we're in!" Eddie hissed under his breath with some excitement. 

The door swung open as Ben retightened the screw into the doorframe and pocketed his tool. "Nice work. Now, let's see, we need to find a book about anything that could help us against the clown..." he trailed off as he reached around the wall to flick on the interior light.

The small reference room was illuminated by a single bare bulb, swinging ever so slightly and casting odd shadows against the two small bookcases in the room. Tucked against a wall was a very small desk and a single chair, along with signs reminding them that these books were 'FRAGILE'.

They wasn't the most striking part about the room, however. 

The books, so lovingly labeled and stored in the special room to avoid sun damage and loss of the precious relics, had been slashed into ribbons by some unseen force. Little bits of ancient paper fluttered through the air like confetti, tatters of long forgotten words and stories of harsh winters now hopelessly damaged beyond legibility. It was clear that the damage to these ancient tomes was recent. Ben's eyes widened in horror at the fact that somehow, they were too _late._

Eddie swore under his breath as he nearly tripped over a discarded cover, the thick leather of it having been slashed and only the first and last few pages still clinging stubbornly to the spine of the once journal or diary. He let it fall from his fingers with disdain, shooting a frantic look over at Ben. "How did this happen?!" he asked, anger thick in his voice. "We were close to something, we had to have been, otherwise why...?"

Ben didn't answer, instead, kneeling to bend down next to one of the small bookshelves and examine the articles there for any signs of something having been spared. They needed something, anything, and if there was so much as a single scrap that It had been unable to destroy before they arrived, he was going to find it.

Eddie sucked in a deep breath and held it, before releasing it with a short sigh. "I'm going to gather up anything that looks useful." he remarked, kneeling and letting his good arm carefully collect any and all pages that seemed to have anything to do specifically with Derry's dark history.

Ben glanced through a few pages of census documents, the names either faded with time or slashed from the pages of history. A small wave of sadness washed over him as Ben realized many of these destroyed books were one of a kind, not to mention contained the personal and private thoughts of many people that had already been long forgotten by both history and their descendants, twenty years before Ben had even moved to Derry.

He made as if to stand up when his fingers brushed against something just underneath the bookshelf. Ben frowned, probing the underside with his fingertips until he made a noise of satisfaction, pulling a very old and tired looking book from underneath the shelf. This one was still intact, wrapped and bound in what looked somewhat like animal skin. The pages were thick parchment, the grain of the paper visible even underneath the loopy dark blue ink that covered the pages.

"The Chronicles of Derry Township May-Sept. 1602, documented by Robert Gray." Ben commented neutrally, frowning at the name intently. "I....I think we may have found the one thing that It didn't want us to find."

Eddie looked up from the small piles of salvaged pages he was inspecting to glance over, shock marring his features as he did so. "That's what the clown calls itself when it's playing the part! There must be some connection, right?" Eddie asked, clever brown eyes darting over to Ben's. "We should get back to Mike's house. If It truly doesn't want us to have that book, we could be in trouble."

Ben nodded in agreement, tucking the item in question tightly under his arm just as he might have when heading to the checkout as a child. Only this time he strode past the empty librarian's desk with Eddie hot on his heels, both of them glancing into each dark hallway or doorway they passed as if expecting to be jumped in an instant. The two of them managed to make it outside with a relatively short (but quickly taken) stride to the exit. The sun had long since set, leaving Eddie to fumble the keys to the convertible's ignition. Ben climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up, clutching the book to his chest. He had the oddest sense that they needed to hurry up, that they were being _watched,_ somehow. He swallowed and told himself it was nothing, that it was just a strange sort of fear of the dark, but his nervousness refused to vanish.

Eddie's brow furrowed in annoyance as he tried to find the ignition in the dark, fingers feeling around somewhat blindly as he jabbed the key once again into the incorrect position. "Son of a-"

Despite the fact that the streets and parking lot were deserted, a single pair of headlights lit up on the other side of the street.

Ben blinked and nudged Eddie once in the side. "Um....hey, Eds? Want to speed that up a little bit..?" He didn't take his hazel eyes off of the lights, frowning in self depreciation as he wondered if he was just being paranoid.

Eddie huffed and kept fiddling with his keys. "I'm going, I'm going-"

The headlights flashed once, from low beams to high and then back again. Eddie glanced up and so did Ben, right before the sound of an accelerator being pressed down hard roared through the silent streets. All at once the headlights began to grow closer and closer, dipping sharply as the driver drove down the curb and into the street, before hopping the curb on the other side and speeding towards them with no sign of stopping.

Eddie's head shot up, dark curls falling into his eyes as he swore and redoubled his attempts to start the car. Now he had located the ignition, but no matter how many times he turned the engine over it just _wouldn't start._ He continued desperately, feathering the gas madly as he tried his best to bring his car to life underneath him.

Ben's fingernails dug into the armrest, leaving half moon shaped indentations behind. His left hand clamped onto the shorter man's shoulder like a lifeline, as though ready to yank him away from the car if necessary. "Eddie, _Eddie-!"_ he intoned lowly, his urgency rising as the headlights grew larger and larger, forcing him to squint and look over at the smaller man in alarm. "Hurry up-!!"

"I'm _trying!"_ Eddie responded frantically, hands clenching tightly around the steering wheel as he planted his foot hard on the gas pedal, the engine revving up dangerously as he did so.

Their entire car was lit up by the ultra bright lights and Ben braced for impact-

-but before it could happen, the convertible shot forward and into the thick mulberry bushes Mrs. Pillbough's third grade class had planted in 1985, the second car clipping only the back bumper and spinning around hard so that both vehicles were facing each other.

Ben panted heavily as he sat up, heart pounding violently against the inside of his rib cage. Eddie looked equally as shaken by the experience, but he wasn't looking at Ben.

He was staring past the hood of his convertible, eyes wide, locked onto the driver of the other car.

It was a very familiar car, after all, sleek and red and just screaming 'arrest me'. The license plate was custom and displayed the word 'R!CH!3' in lapse of a regular plate. Hollywood would surely welcome this car and her driver home, except for the fact that Richie wasn't behind the wheel of the sports car that had nearly killed them.

Nobody was.

The engine of it rumbled once and then died, leaving it sitting in the library parking lot under a streetlight, looking almost intentionally left where it was.

Eddie made a small noise of fear that Ben stifled with his hand, shaking his head quickly.

"We have to get back, _now."_

Eddie moved Ben's palm away from his mouth to respond, voice halfway to hysteria. "Th-That's Richie's car! H-He must have come looking for us a-and something bad happened to him-!" The driver's breaths immediately went thin and shaky as he panted and heaved in oxygen, Ben cursing quietly at his own inability to keep him calm. With a gentle motion, he shifted himself over enough to take the wheel, scooting Eddie to the passenger seat and pressing the book into his hands. The thin fingers locked in a vice grip around it, Eddie inhaling purposefully through his nose as if to try and resist another asthma attack. 

Ben looked up at the red sports car with a small, thin frown. He had the strangest feeling that somehow Eddie was right, and yet...wrong. One of them was in trouble, but...he really didn't think Richie would come alone. After the argument, Stan and Bill versus Richie and Eddie, Mike would have stayed behind to try and calm down Stan and Bill, while Richie may have attempted to follow them.

His eyes widened as he realized the only Loser that would most likely agree to accompany Richie on a wild goose chase, even after agreeing not to go after them. The one Loser who didn't mind the idea of risking her life if it meant getting where she wanted to be.

_"...Bev!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good guess, Benethan, but your princess is in another librarian's parlor!


	82. A Brief Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Eddie and Ben have fun at their local library, Richie, Beverly, and Mike muse on their current situation.

Beverly's leg was jittering.

Well, to be completely honest, so was the rest of her. She had ventured out onto Mike's well-lit porch and settled down onto the bench next to an overhanging potted plant and a small decorative birdhouse. Her leg bounced rapidly up and down as a visual cue to show just how anxious the lack of having all seven Losers safe and at home had made her.

Her long, slender fingers plucked a cigarette from her dwindling pack, and as she brought it to her lips, Richie stuck his purple lighter up to the end. She shot him a grateful look as she steadied her hands around the end and breathed in the warm, bitter tasting smoke. "Thanks." she said softly, a misty cloud of thick white vapor dancing past her plump pink lips. 

Richie nodded and lit his own, taking two nervous drags before it slipped from between his shaking fingertips to bounce off the ground between his gangly legs. He chased after it almost four times before he gave up and snubbed it out with the toe of his shoe. It left an ashy brown smear along the white tip of his converse and the pale green, slightly peeling paint of Mike's porch. Bev reached her hand out as if to admonish him before her expression softened, her hand unclenching into a gentle tousle of those messy black curls even as she sighed. 

"They're coming back, Richie. They will." the redheaded woman insisted, as much for her own benefit as it was for his. 

The comedian gave a self depreciating sort of smile as he caught her hand and began to fiddle idly with the brace around her wrist. "I know they're gonna." he said firmly, his fingers snapping piece of the brace that was plastic against itself with a small 'smack'. "I'm just. I dunno...." he trailed off, drumming his fingertips along the back of her hand to the rhythm of 'Back In Black'. He deliberately didn't meet Beverly's eyes, distracting himself with his newest plaything.

Bev tugged her hand away in response and prodded him in the chest. "Enough fidgeting, Richie. They're going to come back and they're going to be _safe_ and _whole_ and _fine."_ she implored, emphasizing each word with a flick to his breastbone. "Don't get me all worked up, too. We have to stay calm. You _know_ how upset Eddie'll be if he comes back and you're over here having a sort of existential crisis..."

Richie snorted and shoved his glasses further up his nose with his palm, rolling his deep chocolate eyes at her with a hint of derision. "Existential, now _dat's _a good word of the day! 'ow many letters in 'existential crisis', childven?Let's count! One, two, three, ah ah ah-" He began to mimic the Count's voice from Sesame Street with only the slightest hint of mockery, snickering and falling out of it as Mike stepped outside the house to join them. Draped over each muscular arm was a jacket, which he passed to each of them with a meaningful nod of his head. Beverly accepted her jacket and cringed at the bloodstains that marred the front, while Mike simply dropped the other on top of Richie's head when the comedian made as if to ignore it.__

__Richie huffed once as the arm of the faded purple hoodie draped over his nose, sniffing purposefully before giving a start and dramatically declaring, "Smells like fresh Spaghetti Man." He tugged it over his head with a flourish, promptly getting his head stuck in the hole for a second before he tugged the borrowed hoodie, now returned to him, down and into place._ _

__Mike shook his head in bemusement and settled down on Bev's other side, smoothing down his wrinkled shirt and giving a small smile to them both._ _

__"Stan's trying to put Georgie and Audra to bed...it isn't easy without Bill here." he explained, glancing between the two as if checking to make sure they were alright. Richie waved lazily in response, kicking his feet up to land along the railing._ _

__"I bet the little squirt's going crazy up there without Big Bill to tuck him in." the taller man remarked, crossing his arms behind his head. Beverly had to resist the childish urge to nudge his feet down and leave him flailing like a turtle flipped upside down; but those were the games of a child, and sadly, their childhoods were now over._ _

__Mike sighed and nodded glumly. "Georgie wants to know where Bill went and says he won't go to sleep until he sees him. Stan's upstairs, keeping an eye on him." he explained._ _

__Bev got to her feet and headed for the door. "I'd better go check on Stanley for him since Bill....isn't here to do it right now." The redhead flicked her half finished cigarette towards the miniature trash can Mike kept as a makeshift ashtray for his fond-of-smoking guests._ _

__Richie snagged it out of the ashy barrel and finished it in one long, hearty drag. "No sense in wasting a good smoke, Bevvie." He snubbed it out in the dirt and watched the small embers burn away into nothingness._ _

__Beverly flipped him off easily with a small grin and threw his lighter back at him. He snagged it inches away from his face with well practiced ease and a gleeful smirk. Richie easily pocketed the lighter and watched as Beverly headed upstairs, Mike sitting beside him on the bench._ _

__The librarian spoke up suddenly even as Richie forlornly tugged on the purple sweatshirt and deeply inhaled the scent of pure _Eddie._ The borrowed hoodie smelt of coconut shampoo and cucumber hand sanitizer, and something similar to freshly cleaned linens. Richie glanced over sharply when he realized Mike had been speaking and he had foolishly been tuning him out. "Sorry, Mikey, what was that? I was spacin' out a little."_ _

__Mike heaved in a well adjusted sigh. "I said, Bill should be back at the same time Ben and Eddie are. I mean, he got that urgent phone call earlier from _someone."_ the librarian theorized gently._ _

__Richie frowned as he crossed his legs, no longer propping them up along the side of the porch. "So, what, you think Ben or Eds called us up for backup against something and Bill decided to go _alone?!"_ he demanded somewhat incredulously._ _

__Mike got to his feet and brushed off some stray ashes from the remaining smolders of Richie's stale cigarette. "It would appear so." he commented neutrally._ _

__Richie sighed heavily before exploding suddenly to his feet. "Son of a _bitch!"_ he cried into the rural nightlife of south side Derry. A few wild coyotes echoed his call in the distance, their howls echoing through the brush and deep into the nighttime ambience._ _

__Mike placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. "What's gotten into you lately, man?" he asked softly, imploring Richie to open up to someone besides the asthmatic (and currently missing) hypochondriac. "You've been a little bit more hot tempered lately..."_ _

__Richie regarded him with a side look that softened suddenly. "...Look, Micholas, I don't want to interfere with the surely spectacular speech you've prepared for me. But save it. I'm fine. Focus on Stan. I _know_ Eds is comin' home to me. Can he say the same?"_ _

__Mike furrowed his brow and looked confused. "You don't think Bill will be back with Ben and Eddie? If he's not, I'm not sure how Stan will react towards Eddie-"_ _

__Richie stuffed his hands into the front pocket of the purple hoodie as he cut Mike off in mid sentence. "He'd _better_ react like I damn well expect or we might have to come to blows." He put both skinny fists up as if for emphasis._ _

__Mike shoved his hands down with expertly masked irritation. "Nobody is fighting anybody else tonight. Can you knock it off and be serious for once, please?" the librarian pleaded somewhat halfheartedly, his features attempting to curl into a more stern expression._ _

__Richie took the physical shove in stride and neatly spun with the swat in a tight circle, putting one hand on his hip defiantly. "Probably." he said with a snippy little frown, crossing his arms. Mike arched a single eyebrow at him before sighing and sitting down heavily next to Richie on the bench._ _

__"What the hell're we doing here, Mike?" the comedian spoke up suddenly, his expression abruptly tired. All at once, he seemed to age before Mike's eyes, looking every single one of his forty years. "We're not _kids_ anymore. My fucking manager has been calling the hospital for days, I had to slip the receptionist a fifty to get her to play along with the story that I'm not up for phone calls yet. Bev's been having her messages recorded at the Townhouse and apparently they need her back at the factory by Monday. That's three days away, not counting travel time." Richie lit up a third cigarette, ignoring the concern he could read in the shadows of Mike's face, temporarily illuminated but the flick of the lighter. Richie took a long drag, spitting out smoke and his next words with disdain and anguish. "How long can this _last?_ How long until we all just, forget and drift apart from each other? Like-"_ _

___Like last time_ went unspoken as Mike clapped a firm hand onto Richie's shoulder. "Hey." he breathed, trying to project an aura of calm onto the other man. Mike had suspected something like this would come up, and unfortunately, he didn't have much to say to alleviate Richie's concerns. They were all valid. The Losers _didn't_ know what would happen when they left Derry...well, those of them who still had that option._ _

__"What about Eddie?" Mike asked softly, breaking through Richie's stony exterior facade as soon as the driver's name fell from his lips._ _

__The dark haired man flicked some ash off the end of his cigarette and frowned, quirking a brow at the other with a questioning look. "What about 'im?" he finally asked, crossing his wrists over his knees and twirling the lit cigarette from finger to finger._ _

__He was bound to get burned, but that was typical behavior for Richie Tozier. He loved to ding-dong-ditch Fate. Sometimes he got off her lawn before he got caught._ _

__Sometimes he...didn't._ _

__Mike hummed and crossed his arms over his chest, and for the first time, Richie realized the librarian wasn't wearing a jacket. "Well...it's not like he has much of a home to go back to, now, even if he...well, you know."_ _

__Mike didn't need to elaborate on the condition they had found Eddie in shortly after leaving the hospital. He was certain the image would haunt his nightmares for years to come, assuming the same amnesia as before didn't sweep over them all as soon as this was done._ _

__...whatever 'this' was._ _

__Richie looked pained at the reminder of what awaited his closest friend if they managed to survive this new enemy _and_ they didn't forget each other. _ _

__That was a lot of 'ifs'._ _

__An empty house, Myra's dusty knickknacks leaving a permanent reminder of her presence in Eddie's life. A crumbling chauffeur business that was surely doing poorly with both of its managers missing in action, one of them clocked out for good. Richie _knew_ he could give him a better life than tha-_ _

__But who was he to judge the life the younger man had built for himself? Eddie had taken the door to the world in both hands and firmly thrown it wide open. He had crafted his business from the ground up with nothing but his own intuition and a little bit of luck. Richie may not understand the appeal of a chauffeuring job, but for once, Eddie was in full control of himself and the company he had built. Shouldn't he be proud of that? Shouldn't he be supporting him, instead of mentally cataloging ways he could convince Eddie to come back to California with him?_ _

__Richie heaved out a sigh and planted his head in his palms. "God, what a fucking nightmare."_ _

__For once Mike didn't scold his language and he simply patted him on the back. "You said it."_ _

__Richie glanced over at Mike as the wind began to pick up slightly, frowning at the bare skin exposed from Mike's shoulders, down. "Let's head in, yeah? I can't take this view. There's only so long I can stare at your neighbor's ugly ass choice of flowerbed before I get sick to my stomach."_ _

__Mike glanced over at the faintly purple and orange marigolds before shooting a suspicious look at Richie's purple hoodie with the length of his orange t-shirt hanging past his skinny hips. "Uh huh." he commented neutrally. The comedian got to his feet with an exaggerated sigh, brushing a few stray ashes from his curly black hair._ _

__"C'mon, Mikey-my-man, let's wait for 'em inside." he clapped Mike on the back as he stepped past him and into the house, stretching in an exaggerated way once inside. "Fuck it, I'm watching Ghostbusters. I can't believe Georgie didn't ask me to watch it with him!"_ _

__Mike followed after Richie with a small grin. "Well, you're not dating his brother, that's maybe why."_ _

__Richie screwed up his nose. "Nah, I think Bill's got plenty in the way of booty. He doesn't need anyone else trying to get in his pants. Besides, Eds might have a problem with that." he teased lightly, not seeming to notice the way Mike had gone still and quiet._ _

__"Yeah, you're probably right." the librarian commented, rubbing the back of his head and looking slightly uncomfortable._ _

__At that moment, Bev swept downstairs, having taken the time to change into her pajamas. A long, sheer nightgown that flowed behind the back of her heels like a waterfall of blue silk as she descended the steps. Her long, fiery locks cascaded down her back in a river of red, contrasting perfectly with the blue of her nightgown. If Ben could have seen her then, he would have composed many a sonnet describing the way she looked._ _

__But he wasn't._ _

__Richie let out a low whistle. "Looking to impress Benethan, are we? Well, he's gonna leave his jaw behind on the floor in that number!" he shot, teasing just as much a part of him as his many numerous Voices were._ _

__Bev huffed in a good natured sort of rebuttal, tossing her hair over her left shoulder and pointedly shooting him a look in playful warning. "Get ahold of yourself, Richie."_ _

__Richie grinned back up at her openly. "I think I might have to."_ _

__Bev scowled and made a mock face of disgust even as she slung her arm around Richie's neck and promptly gave him a merciless and violent noogie. "Beep beep, Richie!"_ _

__Richie just cackled and danced out of her grip with practiced ease, his black locks tousled and wild. "I'm gonna go figure out where the hell Stan left the movie. He was fuckin' stoned out of his mind, though, so he may not even know." he joked, giving the two of them a feigned salute before taking the steps three at a time and barging into the room Audra, Bill, Stan, and Georgie had been occupying with a loud cry of, "Luuuucyyyyy, I'm hooooome~"_ _

__The sound of the door shutting behind him cut off the dry retort Mike was certain Stan had already on the tip of his tongue._ _

__Bev rolled her eyes at Richie'a behavior before seeming to notice Mike's silence. She stepped closer to him and laid a small hand on his forearm. "You alright?" she asked tentatively, betraying none of the concern that was desperate to break free. She knew if she worked herself up over it, Mike was more likely to try and hide the source of his worry rather than lean on any of them. It was a rather worrisome habit of his._ _

__Mike, as expected, slapped on a broad smile. "I'm alright, Beverly. But thanks for asking."_ _

__She quirked her lips in disbelief. "I don't believe that for a second."_ _

__Mike's smile dropped off his face and it was as if he was removing a mask. "I don't really know how to express it, how to even begin to explain how I feel after all of this."_ _

__Bev gently laid her hand on his forearm and led him to the living room couch, settling down beside him and perching on the end of the floral printed ottoman._ _

__"How about you start from the beginning?"_ _


	83. IT Strikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It lurks in the wings, waiting patiently for his turn to return to the limelight.

Clumsy and unsteady fingers fumbled through the contents of Richie's backseat, throwing aside anything that would prevent it from reaching its goal. It was panicked and furiously rifling for anything it could find to make it all go away.

It let a wicked smile cross over its features even as it lifted a small baggie of white powder crammed and hidden amongst the sleeping pills and acetaminophen.

"yOuVe gOT sOmE sPLaIniNg To dO, tRaSHmOuTh~"

It considered briefly eating the contents of the bag but decided against it, tossing it back amongst the scattered possessions. It didn't want drugs, at least not that kind. That wasn't what it craved, what it needed more than anything this shit town could provide to him. It.

Flesh toned fingers tore the lid from the top of a bottle of sleeping pills and ripping right through the childproof cap with supernatural strength. It threw the lid somewhere, unconcerned, before dumping the numerous blue tinted waterfall into his hand.

Pills bounced and scattered around the interior of the car but it didn't care. It had enough.

It threw back its head and palmed as many past its lips as possible, ignoring the bitter taste from the ones that clung stubbornly to the inside of its mouth instead of heading to the stomach where they belonged. After attempting unsuccessfully to dislodge the stray pills, it simply bit down on them, filling its mouth with an acrid taste that was downright disgusting.

It gagged but didn't allow itself to throw up, blue tinged saliva dripping past pale lips even as it crawled on its hands and knees over the seat, reaching into the side pocket on the driver's seat and uncovering a generously sized bottle of cinnamon whiskey. It was unopened.

_That wouldn't do._

Its claws made undoing this bottle even more difficult that the first, giving a low growl of anger before simply smashing the bottle to the pavement when further attempts to get into it were foiled by the cork.

Glass shattered loudly on the concrete, the thick scent of cinnamon and whiskey rising like mist that clogged its nostrils and made the nausea worse. A few stray 'tings' from glass scattering and bouncing over the dirty pavement. It screamed in rage for a long moment before yellow eyes flicked up and over at a pair of perfectly even footsteps echoing down the dimly lit street. 

Two young twin boys walking hand in hand had just exited the church, along with a gaggle of other small children. However the others all seemed to be accompanied by adults or else by happenstance their parent shad the foresight to purchase their home on a more brightly lit street. 

It watched them closely with yellow eyes alight with hunger, that same craving still settling cold in the pit of its stomach.

The twins passed directly in front of its hiding place of a large bush planted by some overly ambitious teacher years prior.

Claws scrabbled at the dirt and gripped into the soil as the two giggled and continued forward without harm, unaware of how narrowly they had escaped death. 

The sleeping pills were making it woozy and it hissed in irritation at the lack of result it had craved. It's food was getting away!

That might have been that had one of the twins not suddenly stuffed his patent leather shoe on a stone and skidded forwards, palms instinctively skidding across the ground in an attempt to catch himself.

"Oh no, Jeremiah, are you alright?" the other twin asked, reaching for his twin's skinned knee and hands as if unsure how to help him.

The faint scent of blood was all the way down the block but reached its nostrils in an instant, the sleeping pills' faint effects vanishing as they were overtaken by the urge to _feed._

A grin overtook its features.

It would feast tonight, after all.


	84. The Beginning of The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill's perspective of what is happening during all this excitement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since the last update! I'm very happy to say that I won't give up on this story until it's finished so there's no worries there :) I thank each and every one of you for taking the time to read this and appreciate all your support and comments! Here's to another year of fanfiction writing and obsessing over Stephen King characters!

Bill didn't question much as he continued to drift idly away from the library, ink-stained fingers drumming along the underside of the wheel as he hummed a little whimsical tune. He hasn't understood at first but he did now. Audra had needed him to destroy the library books in the reference room...so he had. 

Bill had relished the feeling of the ancient parchment shredding into scraps under his nails, dried ink and dust drifting through the air as he had thrown his body weight into the shelf and sent several tomes scattering. Distantly he thought he could hear pounding on the outside of the door and violent rattling as the doorknob was jostled and shaken, but he chalked it up to an overactive imagination and had left the library, finding it as deserted now as it had been when he first arrived.

Now the two of them were simply cruising the darkened streets of Derry, heading lazily for various exits to the city before stopping, turning around and driving back towards Derry rather aimlessly.

**Audra didn't like him to leave the boundaries of town, after all.**

Bill had the strangest sense of dejavu even as he shook his head sharply and clenched his knuckles tightly around the steering wheel of the sports car he was driving. How had he been able to afford such a slick set of wheels, again? Bill bit his lip in confusion and glanced over as he saw Audra sitting comfortably in the passenger's seat, shooting him a wry grin from across the car as soon as she caught him looking.

"What's on your mind, Billy? You almost missed our turn." she asked lightly, her conversational tone borderlining on teasing as her silver and well manicured fingernails gently trailed along his jawbone, a loving sort of look on her fair features.

Bill flushed red at her familiar act of comfort and smiled somewhat contentedly. "Nothing, hon. Just daydreaming, I suppose. And don't worry about the turn, I know a shortcut." His dark blue eyes glanced into the left side mirror and let a small wave of happiness drift over him as he watched the sign for Main Street disappear in the rear view mirror. He had never thought he would make it through this adventure with everyone who he loved alive and whole in his sports car's seat, Derry's exit soon to be arriving in his headlights-

**dead** lights-

He glanced over and locked eyes with Audra, slowing down accordingly as he gave her a small but genuine little grin. "I love you."

Audra smiled back at him softly, a strange hint of a sort of sadness in her eyes. Her pale blue eyes were deep and miserable, emptiness reflecting somewhat glassily off of her face and making her look less like a living, breathing miracle, and rather like some sort of pretty doll, made up for his pleasure. "We need to go left up ahead, but I love you, too, Bill." Audra murmured softly, smiling again. 

It didn't meet her eyes.

Bill turned his attention back to the road rather abruptly, doing his best to avoid her gaze. He wasn't sure why, but her empty eyes were unsettling, all of a sudden. "I...I told you, I know a shortcut, we need to go straight..."

"Straight? Bill. You seriously need to make the next left or else we're headed 'straight' to Bangor."

The man's eyes darted to the rear view mirror and locked with dull chestnut eyes, almost amber looking in the fading sunlight.

Bill's heart leapt in his chest for a moment.

"Eh-Eddie??"

Eddie blinked up at him slowly, his face pale and blood dripping steadily down the right side of his pale chin, originating from the corner of his mouth. His right arm was missing at the shoulder, and the left raised a melted pale blue inhaler to his gray lips and swiftly inhaled. Instead of a burst of Hydrox, sewer water poured from inside and down Eddie's chin to dribble into his lap. The smell was oh so familiar to Bill, but it still made his stomach lurch and twist with something halfway between disgust and hunger.

"Of course, Big Bill, who else would it be?" Eddie asked softly, his tongue swollen and ripe with parasites as maggots ran down his pristine suit's front.

Bill blinked once and then suddenly Eddie was completely healthy, smiling up at him shyly even as he held a map open on his lap.

"I can't believe you forgot the way to the Derry Library. It hasn't moved in more than thirty years!" he delighted softly, fingers probing their route even as Audra glanced back at him with a grin.

"Bill's been very busy with his work, it makes sense that his mind has been away, as well!" she remarked with a giggle, prodding the denim of Bill's jean-clad knee with a coy laugh.

Bill flushed again and got into the appropriate lane, brushing a hand through his shaggy auburn hair. It was due for a cut soon, although he was rapidly approaching the age where the hair regrowing was a questionable topic. He wasn't a vain person, but he wasn't ready to live a life as a bald man.

Too young for that, yet. He had too much left to do.

Bill frowned as he pulled towards the parking lot of the library, noticing a familiar blue Lincoln sitting in the lot with the headlights illuminated. "Eddie? Wh-What is your car doing here? And huh-h-who is in it?"

Eddie glanced out with disinterest on his features with a shrug. "What are you talking about? That's not mine. My car's a _lot_ nicer than that. And look, some fat guy's driving it."

Bill rolled his eyes at Eddie's apparent vanity for his chosen mode of transportation while Audra chuckled at the bearded fellow behind the blue car's wheel. Bill followed her gaze himself and frowned, a feeling of unsettlement rising in his chest. The man didn't look fat to him at all...

"Well, Bill? What are you waiting for?" Audra suddenly prompted, her eyes insistent on his face even as the older man looked vaguely confused.

"What do you mean, Audra? Waiting...?"

The auburn haired actress looked at him imploringly from out from under her lashes. "Your lines, silly! You have to practice your lines before the performance! And turn left!"

Bill blinked as Eddie abruptly shoved a thick ream of paper forward from the backseat.

Emblazoned upon it was "Romeo and Juliet performed by the 3rd Grade Class of 1980! Starring: William Denbrough and Beverly Marsh!"

Bill blinked down at the long lost script from his childhood with a bewildered sort of bemusement. "This...? Audra, this play's already been finished, thirty damn years ago. What are you saying, 'practice my lines?' And I know, I know, left up at the turn-"

The sun vanished abruptly from the sky as the dark shadow of the starry Maine skyline descended upon the tiny town of Derry. The interior of the sports car remained brightly lit despite all of this, even as Audra's face seemed to be alit by a malevolent sort of starlight.

"Your **stutter,** Bill. It'll be the death of you, someday, if you're not careful." she warned darkly, her eyes seeming to blacken with hatred. Bill recoiled in fright and glanced at the backseat, noticing Eddie's eyes turn a similar shade of black.

**"tUrN LuH-lUh-lUH-LEFT, Bu-bUh bILly bOY!"** he screamed suddenly, his voice coming out twisted and garbled by the insect larvae that were currently inhabiting his rotting vocal cords.

Bill shrieked in terror and jerked the wheel sharply to the right as he slammed on the brakes, coming to a halt with the headlights of the red sports car falling onto the blue convertible ahead and sharply to the left of them. There were two passengers inside.

Something wasn't right, here...

Audra and Eddie weren't acting like themselves, and the strange sense of fogginess in Bill's head didn't help clear his murky and confused thoughts. 

"Go left, Bill." A new, sweet, and familiar voice commanded softly from the backseat. 

Scared and confused blue eyes flicked up to the rear view mirror to see that Eddie had been replaced now by the one person who could convince him to turn the wheel left and stomp on the gas.

Stanley Uris was sitting in the backseat, alone, perched forward on the seat as his perfectly clean fingernails gently traced down the back of Bill's exposed arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps where he touched. 

Surely _(Mike)_ the librarian wouldn't mind if he turned left here... These were extenuating circumstances. He had to practice his lines for the play so he didn't embarrass Beverly-

_-everyone knew if she did poorly her dad would beat her into unconsciousness for daring to invite him to an unsatisfactory play-_

-or his parents, who would surely be able to find a babysitter for Georgie that night and make sure to watch him conquer his hated stutter.

"Okay, Stanley. Left it is." He said softly and without a trace of remorse.

Bill jerked the wheel hard to the left and slammed on the gas, the terrified faces of the men inside the car being alit by his hea-

**deadlights deadlights they're in the deadlights-**

_headlights,_ before the convertible suddenly shot forward and into the bushes, the front end of the red sports car just barely clipping the back end of the supposedly-fat-man's car-

_Uh-Eh-Eddie's car-_

Bill swallowed thickly as he glanced behind him and spotted the convertible and both of the inhabitants missing from the parking lot, as if they had never been there.

His shaking hands came up to rub at his eyes for a moment, when his vision cleared; for just an instant he could have sworn he smelt stagnant water. Bill's heartbeat quickened for no discernible reason and he exhaled sharply before Stan leaned forward to breathe hotly into his ear.

"Let's go home, Billy."

Bill shivered and nodded and began to drive to the Barrens.

Home, but not for him.

In the backseat, there was a faint burst of static from some sort of radio, before slender and perfectly manicured fingers turned the dial down to zero.


	85. A Triumphant Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Eddie make their triumphant homecoming only to find Bill absent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again lovelies! Just want to thank you all again for the continued support and surprise you guys with an extra chapter this week! (I know it's technically Monday now but hush it's 3 am where I am and it's not tomorrow yet as far as I'm concerned LOL)

"B'lly? Can ya hear me? Come in, Bill, over."

The crackle of the walkie talkie and the hiss of static was his only reply, his small shoulders slumping slightly in disappointment with each unanswered call for his big brother.

Still, he puffed out his chest with determination and pressed the button again, unwilling to give up. "Bill, come in, do you copy? Over."

Nothing.

Downstairs, Beverly was curled up on the couch next to Audra, gently using a small pair of tweezers from her purse to work the razor free from her foot. Audra whimpered softly before her face steeled and she asked, "...helps?"

Beverly nodded even as she finally managed to very slowly draw the blade out and set it aside on the end table, atop a tissue. "I hope so, Audra. I think now that it's out you'll be in less pain..." She looked hopeful at the thought, Audra pulling back her foot and thoughtfully curling her toes. 

"Helps." She declared finally, before Mike knelt down and began to bandage up her foot. 

"She's really come a long way in a short time. I think interacting with other people is bringing her back more quickly." Mike commented neutrally as he applied antiseptic cream gently to the cut and tightly wrapping fabric bandages around her heel and ankle to hold it in place. To finish the whole thing he procured a tight athletic ankle brace, which he pulled around her ankle and heel to keep everything compressed and as comfortable as possible. It was a decent job, and he mentally patted himself on he back for attempting first aid at all. Usually Eddie or Stan handled that aspect of their friendship...but with Eddie gone and Stan, well...being Stan, it was up to himself and Beverly.

Stan fretted nervously in the background, his faith in himself seemingly shattered. He didn't feel comfortable touching Audra anymore, not with Bill gone as well. He couldn't understand why Bill had gone off so suddenly, taking Richie's car after getting that mysterious phone call. And the conversation he had managed to vaguely overhear had been so odd, too...

_Bill clouted Richie rather roughly in the back of the head. "Knock it off, Trashmouth!" he snapped._

_Richie recoiled with a flinch and a sharp howl at the sudden blow to the back of his head. "J-Jesus, Bill! Try fucking pulling your punches next time! I get the message!"_

_Bev gently tousled the dark locks around the site of Bill's abrupt hit with sympathy and love, shooting the offending man a scowl deeper than the banks of the Kenduskeag. Bill looked appropriately chastised even as the phone in Mike's kitchen began to ring._

_"I-I'll guh-get it." Bill murmured as he gazed intently at the floor, before fleeing into the kitchen with an inpatient and regretful stride. Mike watched him go with confusion in his eyes, his dark hands clenching around the handle of the chair he was sitting in. Stan glanced over and heaved in a sharp sigh, sitting up straight and tall, posture as impeccable as his demeanor. His ears perked up as he heard Bill speak softly from the kitchen, presumably to whomever was on the other end of the line._

_"....you're right. You're right. I'll leave. I'll leave right now."_

_Stan frowned and glanced over at the librarian as he began to talk._

_Mike spoke up, glancing over at Bev and Richie. "Now don't say anything to Bill, but do you two think he's been acting a bit...off, lately?"_

_Beverly bit her lip even as her long slender finger curled around a strand of fiery red hair. "I....yeah, I've noticed, a bit."_

_Richie opened his mouth with a scowl, about to protest, but was interrupted as Bill returned abruptly, the phone clenched tightly in his fist._

_"Ruh-Richie. Can I borrow your car? I-I puh-puhrom-omise to buh-buhring it b-back suh-suh-soon."_

_Richie glanced over at Bev, Stan, and Mike, before dark brown eyes shot back over to lock with Bill's ocean blue ones. He and Bill had always had a sort of special language, a connection unlike the other Losers did with their leader.  
He would always do whatever his best friend needed him to._

_"Yeah, Big Bill. Whatever you need."_

_And Richie handed over his car keys._

What had that been about? Bill was definitely acting odd, and until Ben and Eddie returned, there was no way to know what was happening.

Headlights in the window caused Beverly to race to the door, peeking through the window and gasping as she saw who had arrived. "It's Ben, and Eddie! They're home! They're both okay!"

Richie breathed a soft exhale of relief as he likewise raced to the door like a happy-go-lucky puppy, tugging Eddie inside before the man could even open the door. "Spaghetti Man! You're back! Thanks for going with him, Haystack, I totally owe you one."

Ben was tugged into Beverly's arms and enveloped in a tight squeeze even as he responded, looking pleased but a bit shaken. "It's good to be back, let's just say." Clever hazel eyes flicked around the room and he frowned as he came up one occupant short. "Where's Bill?"

Eddie poked his head out from under Richie's arm in silent question as Stan answered from his place on the couch. "He...he left. Not too long ago. He got a call...it must have been the hospital or something."

It sounded so stupid when you said it aloud. Why on earth hadn't he stopped him? Stan's thoughts wandered as he realized it must have been the distraction of his strangulation being miraculously healed that had been the cover for Bill to slip away. But to where, and why? Stan had a thousand questions and no answers.

Eddie frowned. "That's really weird...did he say where he was going?"

Mike sighed and looked back at Audra, the woman having turned to fixate on Richie's Squirtle keychain again. "No, he didn't say anything except that he needed to take Richie's car."

Ben bit his lip before he spoke, holding up the old book they had taken from the reference room. "Well, Eddie and I found something at the library that I think could be the key to defeating It once and for all...but I was hoping all of us would be here..."

Beverly spoke up, crossing her arms over her chest. "We don't have the time to waste right now. It's getting more aggressive by the minute and we already know that It can get to us here. We need all the help we can get, we can fill Bill in later."

The present Losers nodded at each other, seeming to be in agreement. Slowly they all filtered back into the living room and gathered around the coffee table, minus Audra and Georgie.

"Okay...let's start at the beginning, I guess..." Ben murmured, and he flipped the ancient journal open to the first page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Robert Gray reveals crucial secrets about It and the Losers realize abruptly that Audra and Georgie have been rather quiet lately......


End file.
